


open your mouth, say something warm

by uneventfulhouses



Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series), Watcher Entertainment
Genre: Friends to Lovers, M/M, a lot of feelings, metaphorical house buying, sex and feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-16
Updated: 2020-05-16
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:00:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24216292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uneventfulhouses/pseuds/uneventfulhouses
Summary: “Generally, people who want to buy houses with other people tend to have feelings for the person they’re purchasing the house with,” Katie muses, eyebrow arched.Brittney nods, her face melting into something like sympathy, with the soft curve of her crooked smile.“It’s Shane,” Ryan reasons, like that offers any explanation. It doesn’t seem to.“Yes, it’s Shane. Shane who—” Katie makes a vague hand gesture at him. “—and you who—” she continues, with another vague hand gesture. Ryan frowns.“But it’sShane.” Ryan looks at Steven.“Hey, don’t look at me,” he says. “I got shot down because I’m ‘too tall’.” Steven mimes the air quotes.
Relationships: Ryan Bergara/Shane Madej
Comments: 104
Kudos: 647
Collections: I Love You May, The Ghosts Are Watching





	open your mouth, say something warm

**Author's Note:**

> here's my contribution for 'i love you may'! i had a lot of fun writing this one. 
> 
> thanks to jess for the beta. 
> 
> title is taken from hayley williams’ "why we ever".

Summertime has set in, and even though the sun’s gone down, the early June heat of the day still lingers. It’s a Friday night, and some of the Watcher crew have descended onto the nearest bar that’ll seat the six of them. 

It’s only seven, but it’s been a very long week. To have this nice little reprieve is well-earned; Ryan’s got a pleasant buzz going, sipping his Jack and Coke as conversation thrums among the group they’ve put together. In their booth, Shane sits next to him on his right, stirring his straw in something orange. Steven’s on his left, squished between him and the wall, nursing a water. Katie and Brittney sit across from them with blue drinks in their glasses, TJ taking a swig of his beer in front of Shane. 

“Oh, Steven,” Katie says, “I really admired your answer about starting a business with a good team being more important than buying a house. Buying a house was the most difficult thing Ricky and I have ever done. Do not recommend it.” 

Brittney says, “You love your house, though!” at the same time Shane says, “I’d buy a house with Ryan.” 

The conversation does not pick up Brittney’s addition; Steven leans over the table to look down at Shane over where Ryan sits between them. 

“Would you buy one with me, though?” he asks. Ryan turns to Shane, curious for his answer.

Slowly, Shane drinks from his glass and sets it down on the table. He shakes his head. “Mmm, no. There should only be one abnormally tall person to a house. I learned that the hard way.” 

Ryan laughs, loud and exaggerated, elbowing Steven. “Ha ha,” Ryan cackles, feeling prideful. Shane grins and rolls his eyes.

“Be right back,” Shane says, slipping out of the booth. Ryan watches him walk away, his eyes following the long strides of Shane’s legs, the height of his body, before turning his attention back to the table. 

Four pairs of eyes stare straight at him, and his heart lurches in his chest, like he’s been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. 

“What?” 

“Generally, people who want to buy houses with other people tend to have feelings for the person they’re purchasing the house with,” Katie muses, eyebrow arched. 

Brittney nods, her face melting into something like sympathy, with the soft curve of her crooked smile. 

“It’s Shane _,_ ” Ryan reasons, like that offers any explanation. It doesn’t seem to. 

“Yes, it’s Shane. Shane who—” Katie makes a vague hand gesture at him. “—and you who—” she continues, with another vague hand gesture. Ryan frowns. 

“But it’s _Shane_.” Ryan looks at Steven. 

“Hey, don’t look at me,” he says. “I got shot down because I’m ‘too tall’.” Steven mimes the air quotes.

Ryan looks at TJ. “Teej—" 

He sighs. “Look man, the only person I’ve ever said that to is currently my wife.” 

Ryan’s jaw drops. “Oh my God, he wants me to be his wife?” He pauses, glancing at Katie, then Brittney, then down at his nearly-finished drink. “Oh my God, he wants to _bang_.” 

The table, collectively, howls with laughter. Even Ryan smiles a little bit, despite the way his heart keeps it’s relentless rhythm.

“Well, he wants to buy a house with you,” Brittney clarifies. 

“What do you think we’ll be doing in a house we own together, Britt?” Ryan asks, whipping his head up to look at her. 

“Easy, Bergara,” TJ admonishes. “Brittney hasn’t seen you and Shane make googly eyes at each other for the last four years and not do anything about the piping hot tension you guys somehow manage to have while talking about ghosts and murders.” TJ mutters something like _fuckin’ weirdos_ under his breath but Ryan pays no mind to that. 

“Relax, Ryan,” Katie eases. “It’s fine—”

“Are you guys just joking or—” Ryan cuts himself off, looking from face to face. No one immediately offers an answer, so he looks down at his drink. It doesn’t seem to have an answer either, so he finishes it off. He sets it down a little too hard.

“I mean,” Steven starts, “it’s not out of reach, really, if I’m honest.” 

Katie shakes her head. “Not at all far-fetched. You guys are a special brand of _something_.” 

“Okay, okay,” Ryan says, ducking his head down into his hands. The table is sticky where he sets his elbows. 

“Am I the last person to know that I apparently have feelings for Shane?” he asks. “And that he apparently wants to go Stepford in the suburbs? And that I would like him to—buy a house with me?” 

“We’ve been really busy,” Steven offers, patting him sympathetically on the shoulder. Brittney snickers behind her hand. 

“Busy with what?” Shane’s voice is close and when Ryan looks up, Shane stands tall enough that Ryan has to crane his neck to look up at him.

 _Shane_? Ryan thinks. _Feelings for me? That can’t be right._

“The company,” Katie says, gracefully. “Ryan’s just said he’s exhausted.” 

“Oh. Do you wanna go?” Shane asks, sliding into the booth beside Ryan, like he’d been sitting before.

“Not yet. I’m just complaining to complain, I guess.” Ryan shrugs. Shane gives him an easy grin, and the conversation spins away into an anecdote he leads, which has everyone laughing. 

While Shane talks, Ryan watches him closely, tracing the ridge of his brow and the slope of his nose, the way he speaks with the smallest of lisps that’s accentuated when he drinks. His cheeks are flushed from the alcohol, and his posture has always been the worst, but well. 

Well, has it always been there? 

Has it really? 

Ryan glances at Steven, and can for sure say he doesn’t take care to study his features like he had Shane. He looks at TJ—moot point considering the dude’s married, but even then, there’s no _want_ to look at him. He turns his attention to Katie, to Brittney—

They’re his coworkers; he’d go as far as to classify them as friends with how close they’ve all become creating their company, and while they’re all something worth looking at, he still finds his eyes settling on Shane.

God, it really has always been there.

This isn’t a Bradley Cooper thing. This isn’t a Henry Cavill thing. It is a _thing_ , though, something that needs a real definition. Something that needs analyzing and scrutinizing. Meticulous breakdown of atoms and particles to find out what _kind_ of thing it is.

Is it a passing thing? Unlikely. He can’t really pinpoint a time where Shane stopped being a friend and started being _something_. Something?

Something without a category. Something without borders or boundaries. It couldn’t have always been like this.

Except, seemingly, it has.

People work with other people for years, and they don’t just _fall in love_. That’s—

Well. Some people don’t, Ryan supposes, but some people (him) do.

Later, the group disperses, and like usual, like every other night they go out and have drinks, Shane sees Ryan into a car before taking his own, grinning with promises to text when he gets home. 

Ryan never realized before that he always waits for Shane to text. 

And that Shane always does. 

Fuck, fuck. 

Okay. He can regroup. He can do this. It’s a case. An unsolved case, and he’s good at these. 

It’s only ten on a Friday night; he’s pulled out a beer, some Cool Ranch Doritos, and his MacBook. He opens Excel and titles the workbook, _Does Shane Want to Bone? (working title)_

With headers and a legend, he recounts anything that could possibly allude to Shane having any sort of romantic feelings towards him. He draws two columns, one titled _He Loves Me_ and the other _He Loves Me Not_. 

And he goes back. Way back. _Test Friends_ back. 

The _He Loves Me_ column is just as long as the _He Loves Me Not_ column, and that leaves him absolutely nowhere.

Forensics would say it’s inconclusive data. Ryan says it’s bullshit.

That, of course, does not stop him from spiraling. He doesn’t _A Beautiful Mind_ it, but he’s really close.

The entire weekend is spent with his laptop, horrible foods, and acidic spikes of anxiety while basketball highlights play in the background. 

-:-

It’s noon on Sunday when a knock on his door wakes him up from his nap. He startles, heart racing in his chest as he gets off the couch, adjusting his shirt where it’s ridden up. He doesn’t think he’s expecting anyone, but he rubs his eyes, blinking sleep away as he wipes his hand over his mouth.

When he opens the door, he finds Shane, leaning against the wall, hands in his pockets. He’s dressed smartly, his regular Chinos and a printed button-up. It’s got foxes on it, and Ryan finds that endearing. Shane’s hair sweeps over his forehead and he looks at Ryan with bright eyes behind his glasses. 

“Hey, man— _oh._ ” Shane looks him over, and Ryan knows he looks like he’s gone through hell and back. Regretfully, he wishes he’d have gotten properly dressed for the day that morning instead of lazing it away in the same clothes he’s been wearing since Friday. “You okay?” 

Ryan nods, brushing his hand down his shirt, widening the door so Shane can step through. “Yeah, I just—uh, figured I’d—uh, do whatever it is I’m doing,” Ryan mumbles, walking past Shane to shut the lid of his laptop closed before Shane can see the spreadsheet open, and unaired footage from season two of _Unsolved: Supernatural_. 

“But are you okay? You look like—” Shane cuts himself off, like he’s too kind to voice how Ryan actually looks. 

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. Just really lazing it away this weekend. Uh—” Ryan smiles, running his fingers through his messy hair. “Not that I’m not glad to see you, but—” 

“Cinema? We’re supposed to see—” 

“Right! Right.” Ryan glances up at the clock and sees he has negative five minutes to do anything, but Shane doesn’t seem bothered. He seats himself on the sofa. “I’ll shower and get dressed and we’ll go.” 

“Alright,” Shane says, giving him an easy, nonplussed smile. It becomes incredibly clear, in that split second, that Shane may or may not have feelings for him, but there’s an avalanche of feelings in his chest; it is reckless, spewing mounds of emotions every which way, and Ryan doesn’t know which way is up. 

Doesn’t matter if Shane has feelings or not, because Ryan sure as fuck does, and he wishes Shane would have never said he’d buy a stupid house with him, because he was just fine. Ignorance is bliss, or whatever. 

In record time, he’s showered and dressed, hair over his forehead so he doesn’t have to deal with it, glasses on so he can skip the extra minutes it takes for contacts. Keys, wallet, phone. Shane. 

“Okay, let’s go,” Ryan says, coming out of his room. Shane looks up at him from where he’s sitting, twisting to look at him over the seatback of the couch. 

“You clean up well,” Shane says appreciatively. 

Ryan forces himself not to blush—because he’s not going to be that dude that blushes every time the guy he apparently likes tosses him a compliment. 

He’s just not. 

“Thanks,” Ryan says, clearing his throat. He blushes. “Ready?” 

Shane smiles, cocking his head to the side. Concern still tugs at the slant of his eyes, the gentle knit of his brows. “You sure you’re alright?” 

“Never better. Honestly, come on. We’re gonna miss the previews and you hate that.” 

Shane makes a noncommittal sound, and Ryan ushers him out, locking up behind himself. 

In the car, they make conversation over the gentle hum of music and tires on asphalt as Ryan navigates LA traffic to the theatre. 

“Do anything this weekend?” Ryan asks him, merging into the next lane. 

“Not much—just editing. Saw a band last night—” 

“Oh, can I guess the name? _Rearview Mirror Air Freshener_?” 

“You’re the worst,” Shane says, but he’s grinning when Ryan sneaks a glance at him.

“Did you like them?” 

“They were pretty good. Picked up a CD.” 

“Nice. Doing anything later?” 

“Nah. Probably call it an early night.” 

Ryan hums. He could change that. He could say, _why don’t you come over?_ or _why don’t we get dinner?_ Or _what did you mean by buying a house with me because it’s been two days and I’m sorta losing my mind about it?_

A beat passes, and then another, and then Shane picks up a different topic, and Ryan realizes his window has closed and he stays disappointed with himself as he converses.

At the theatre, after getting their tickets scanned, they stand in line at the concessions booth and grab popcorn and sodas. 

Ryan doesn’t really pay attention to the two hour long movie. He chomps on his bucket of popcorn, mulling over the fact that he realizes that maybe the reason why he hasn’t felt the need to go on a date the last couple of years is because Shane gives him that feeling. 

That horribly, gross, contentedness. Sure, he’d like to be railed six ways from Tuesday until he can’t see, but that’s neither here nor there. 

What’s here is this sticky feeling in his chest, one he’d never really noticed, he could say. What’s here is a little shock whenever Shane accidentally nudges his arm over their shared armrest. 

What’s here, apparently, are years of repressed feelings for the guy with the inability to show one (1) emotion when it comes to the relationships he’s forged with other people.

But William Shakespeare? Tears everywhere. 

Someone’s getting brutally stabbed on screen, and Ryan, in the privacy of his own mind, is a fucking issue of _Better Homes and Gardens_ , because really, honestly, with the amount of times they’ve shared a hotel room, with the amount of times they’ve slept on dingey floors, napped in the back of van or on the horrible plastic of airport seating, owning a house with Shane doesn’t sound bad. 

Like, the idea of domestic bliss with that asshole? 

The movie ends and Shane’s waving a hand in front of his face. 

“Earth to Ryan—hey, bud. Did your precious aliens come grab your brain?” Shane says, smug. 

Ryan rolls his eyes. “Shut up, Shane.” 

Shane laughs, standing up, grabbing Ryan’s empty bucket of popcorn. Ryan picks himself up and follows Shane down the aisle. 

“Did you like the movie?” Shane asks. 

“Uh?” 

“Yeah, same. Definitely could’ve slept through it.” 

Ryan shakes his head. “It was alright.” 

“I did like the love story. Quite winding, that one.” 

“Oh, yeah—yeah,” Ryan lies. “That was good.” 

“And the villain was actually the daughter—crazy how they put that together.” 

“Mhm,” Ryan agrees. 

“Sad about the dog. Always terrible when movies go killing dogs.” 

“Fuckin’ horrible. Poor little pup,” Ryan says, shaking his head sympathetically. 

“Ryan, bud.” Shane says, turning around and stopping Ryan. 

“Yeah?” Ryan looks up at Shane, quirking a smile. “What’s up?” 

“None of that happened. We watched a movie about a war. Are you sure you’re okay? You were spaced the whole time.” 

“Promise I’m fine. I’m just—I’ve just been up in my head about some stuff.” Ryan looks away, somewhere behind Shane where people are still bustling out of the theatre. The movie screen is blue, and the lights are on and Ryan really needs to get it together.

Shane eyes him carefully. “Alright,” he relents. 

They end up deciding to get food after Ryan’s stomach grumbles as soon as they buckle their seatbelts in the care, despite just having eaten an entire bucket of popcorn. They settle for burgers. Ryan steals some of Shane’s fries, even though Shane gripes about it. 

-:-

Life is hilarious. And by hilarious, he means _Ironic_ by Alanis Morrissette. 

A couple weeks go by and he notices _so many things_. 

Like how many times a day Shane checks in with him. How Shane brings him coffee, unprompted, from the Keurig in the office, always mixed up just the way he likes it. 

Shane almost always reminds him to eat, to take breaks when he’s been looking at the screen for too long and starts to become irritable. 

Ryan notices Shane’s hair has gotten long enough that it curls behind his ears. It takes every single ounce of restraint Ryan has not to reach out and touch it, straighten the curl between his fingertips and watch it spring back. 

Honestly, no one said 2020 was the year of revelations, but lo and behold, Ryan’s revelation-ing. He doesn’t have to like it though. 

After Fourth of July weekend, he’s in the office, typing away at an email for a prospective _Spooky Small Talk_ guest. A reminder dings on his phone. 

**_Upcoming Event - July 9_ ** **_ th _ **

_Notes:_   
_Flight—LAX to ORD_  
_Scott’s Wedding_

Ryan glances over at Shane; he’s diligently working on whatever’s on his screen. He’s wearing a beanie; even in this gross Los Angeles heat. The office is chilly, though, he’ll give it to Shane. 

He nudges Shane’s arm with his elbow. Shane shoves off one side of his headphones. “Yeah?” 

“Scott’s wedding is this weekend. I totally spaced,” Ryan says. 

“We already cleared it with Katie,” Shane confirms. “You could use the break, honestly.” He gives Ryan a crooked smile. 

“Think so?” 

“You’ve been really weird lately. I think you need to unplug. No more work for you.” Shane’s voice is soft, close, hushed like it’s just for Ryan. It’s not work that he’s been overthinking and overanalyzing, but Shane’s very cute for thinking so. 

“Yeah, alright. I’m looking forward to it, honestly. And it’s summertime, so no snow,” Ryan muses, grinning rather triumphantly.

“Ah, yes. Snow. Your archnemesis.” Shane shakes his head. 

Ryan chuckles, turning back to his screen. “Wanna get some lunch?” 

“Sure,” Shane agrees. 

Ryan finishes his email and Shane takes off his headphones, stretching his arms above his head. Ryan absolutely does not peruse the length of Shane’s body when he does so.

He absolutely does not look where Shane’s t-shirt has ridden up.

He does not. 

-:-

When Thursday morning arrives, Ryan makes himself coffee and waits for Shane to text him when he’s downstairs. He double checks that he’s got his charger, his headphones, _underwear_. Check, check, check.

Shane texts him just as he’s finished his mug, so he grabs his suitcase and locks up behind himself.

There’s a car waiting outside his building, and when the trunk pops open, he shoves his suitcase next to Shane’s.

Ryan greets Shane’s sleepy smile with one of his own when he slides into the backseat. The driver takes them to the airport. 

It’s only nine, but considering Ryan hadn’t slept well the night before, he’s ready to crash when he gets on the plane. Shane looks happy—he always does when he goes home. 

“Is it weird that I’m excited to see your mom?” Ryan asks after they check their bags and make their way to stand in line for coffee. 

Shane smiles. “Nah. She’s excited to see you, too.” 

Contentedness makes itself known in warmth. They share a look, something indescribable that tugs at the sides of Shane’s eyes as Shane looks back at Ryan, something that’s interrupted when someone behind them lets them know the line has moved. 

They order and grab their coffees, and find vacant seats in their terminal’s waiting area, chilling until it’s time to board. 

-:-

When Ryan wakes up, the window shield is closed, and he finds he’s been covered with Shane’s jacket after having made a pillow out of Shane’s shoulder. His cheek is pressed against the fabric of Shane’s well-worn t-shirt. When he looks, Shane’s plugged into his phone, watching some sort of video. The time on Shane’s watch says they still have an hour left until they land. 

Ryan pulls the jacket tighter around himself, yawning into Shane’s shoulder. He fixes his glasses so they sit correctly on his face, and then he reaches over and yanks out one of Shane’s ear buds—which Shane mildly protests—and plugs himself in. 

“Afternoon, Sleeping Beauty,” Shane says, a slight, exasperated edge to his voice. 

“Aww, you think I’m beautiful?” Ryan teases, yawning again. Shane rolls his eyes. “What are we—the Adam Driver movie again?” 

“It’s _good_!” 

Ryan heaves a sigh, but he finds himself getting wrapped up in the story anyway. Shane doesn’t seem bothered that Ryan is resting on him, so Ryan doesn’t say anything about it. 

He doesn’t move either. 

-:-

The process of landing has never been Ryan’s favorite. It’s much too stifling; the air is always weirdly muggy, everyone thinks they’re priority, and he’s always slightly afraid that he’s going to be hit with someone’s luggage as people yank their carry-ons from the overhead compartments. 

Both Shane and Ryan stay seated as other passengers stand and get ready to deplane. The movie is almost over, so Ryan keeps his head on Shane’s shoulder as they finish it. Eventually, Ryan gives Shane back his jacket.

-:-

They take a car back to Shane’s parent’s house, which takes a little over twenty minutes. Ryan’s got that feeling where he’s both wide awake, but exhausted. The two of them are quiet in the backseat of the Uber.

The sun is setting; it struggles to bleed light over the horizon, slipping through the hollow cracks in the landscape, dripping orange luminescence over the walls of buildings, reflecting off the windows of the cars that zoom past them on the highway. It’s almost garish, but the light here is different than California; radiant in a way that’s unfamiliar. It’s just waning sunlight, but this is Chicago, fading into dusk as the sun sinks lower and lower behind the earth.

It’s still fairly early by the time they arrive at Shane’s parents. Sherry has dinner ready when they walk through the door. She looks great, lit up with excitement to see Shane. She drags him into her arms, and he goes willingly, dwarfing her with his large frame.

“I missed you,” she says quietly, and it’s a moment Ryan doesn’t feel like he should be allowed to see, but he enjoys the warmth of it. 

“You, too, Mom,” Shane answers simply. Ryan watches as Shane hugs his mother for a while, until she’s ready to let him go. She reaches up and pats his face with a gentle hand when they pull away. Things like this always make him miss his mother. 

“Ryan, sweetie,” she says before pulling him in for a hug, too. “It’s been a while. How are your parents?” 

“They’re good,” he says, holding her for a moment before letting her go. And like with Shane, she touches her hand to his face, and swipes her thumb over his cheek. 

“How was the flight?” she asks. “You two look tired.” 

“It was long,” Shane says. “It’s nice to be standing.”

“Yeah. Your stilts weren’t made to be boxed up,” Ryan teases. Shane elbows him, which makes Ryan grin.

“You boys ready to eat? You can take your plates into the living room and watch TV with your dad,” Sherry says, ushering them into the kitchen. 

Shane pushes Ryan before him, and Ryan grabs a plate, feeling awkward that their suitcases are still in the hall. Shane doesn’t pay it any mind though, right on his heels as he serves himself. He must’ve missed his mother’s cooking. Ryan does whenever he’s not visited his parents for so long. Whatever Sherry’s made smells unbelievably incredible. 

They make themselves at home on the sofa, table trays in front of them. There’s a history documentary playing, and for the most part, Ryan tunes it out while he eats. Shane’s dad is asleep on the recliner, much like dads tend to do. Ryan looks around, reminding himself of the decorations and the photos of Shane and his brother on the wall, family members Ryan’s never met. He’s only ever visited one other time, passing through whilst on location for a shoot.

“I’m gonna get started on that pie,” Sherry says, bringing them both cap-less beer bottles. 

“Thanks, Mrs. Madej,” Ryan says. 

“You know you can call me Sherry, sweetie.” She gives him a smile, the kind only moms can give. The kind that makes Ryan feel so much younger, even though he’s nearly thirty.

When she’s gone, Ryan looks at Shane, and Shane’s smiling, too, something soft and sweet. Warm. 

“Told you she was excited to see you,” Shane says quietly, before turning his attention to the television. 

Ryan doesn’t know what to say to that, why it would even matter that Shane brings it up, but it lights the candle in Ryan’s core, the one that glows whenever Shane manages to make him feel those bottled up feelings.

Instead of answering, Ryan practically inhales the entire dinner plate, and by the time he’s finished his beer, there’s a slice of apple pie sitting in front of him, with a healthy scoop of ice cream on top. 

It’s better than anything they’d eaten at Pie Hole. He’d shed a tear if he wasn’t so tired.

Afterwards, Shane shuts the TV off and wakes his dad up to shoo him to bed. 

“Hey, Ryan,” Mr. Madej greets. “Nice to see you again.” 

“Likewise, Mr.—” The look Mr. Madej gives him nearly makes Ryan laugh. “Nice to see you, too, Mark.” 

Mark leaves the living room, and Shane laughs. 

“Come on, Mr. Bergara,” Shane rags. “Gonna get you set up for bed. Or if you want, I can build up a fire outside. We can have a couple more beers since it’s still kind of early.” 

“That actually sounds good,” Ryan says, standing from the couch. He collects his plate and his empty bottle, following Shane into the kitchen. 

“You wash, I’ll dry, hmm?” Ryan proposes. 

Shane gives him that smile again, and Ryan doesn’t get it, doesn’t understand, because it’s just dishes. Which Ryan hates doing to begin with. But Shane looks soft in the kitchen light, and something twists inside of Ryan’s chest, and he wants so badly to step up onto the very tips of his toes and kiss him. Or press his hand to Shane’s chest. Or something. Ryan just wants _something._ And now he doesn’t even understand himself. Because it’s just _dishes_.

Either way, the desire assaults him, and Ryan clears his throat, like Shane can hear his innermost workings, even though Ryan knows better. 

Shane turns away and switches the water faucet on. Ryan opens the second drawer down next to the sink and grabs a dish towel. They’re quiet to start, but Ryan’s never been one to truly live in silence. 

“Are you happy?” Ryan wonders aloud. 

“Like generally?” Shane glances at him, before pulling a plate from the stack in the sink. 

“Well, I would hope generally. I just meant, like, to be home,” Ryan clarifies, taking the plate from Shane and drying it. He sets it in the cabinet to his right. Ryan takes another plate from Shane. 

“Yeah. I always am. Sometimes it feels a little bit like time travel,” Shane muses. “Like, I think my mom still sees me as her little baby, even though I’m in my thirties.” 

Ryan laughs. “I think that’s just moms. You’ve seen my mom go nuts over me and Jake. I can imagine I’d feel like that about my kids, too.” 

For a moment, Shane stays quiet. “You’d be a really good dad, Ry,” he says finally. 

“Thanks.” Ryan smiles. “I know they aren’t on your radar, but you’d be a good dad, too.” 

In this fragile, shared moment, Ryan’s chest aches. Shane clears his throat and attends the dishes. Ryan looks down at the plate he’s been over-drying and puts it in the cabinet. 

“So, what’s on the schedule for tomorrow?” Ryan says, attempting to divert the conversation to something safer. 

“We’ll probably get up around nine or ten. Mom’ll let us sleep for a bit, but then we got tons of shit to do for the rehearsal dinner. Since Scott and Oliver let Mom basically plan it, we gotta get all the—the _shit_. Put it all together for some semblance of a wedding. And then we get to eat and go to bed, and do it all over again, but for real.” 

“Oh, man. Did you write your speech?” Ryan asks. 

Shane hums. “Thought I’d wing it.” 

“Wing it?” Ryan nearly exclaims. “Shane, you can’t just—” 

“I was kidding, Ryan. I have it all written out.” Shane chuckles. “Don’t worry. I won’t wing it at your wedding.” 

The part of Ryan’s brain that feels all of his emotions exponentiated and exaggerated, imagines Shane winging it at his wedding. Only, it wouldn’t be a best man’s speech. 

Ryan wheezes. “Even if you did, at my wedding or Scott’s, whatever you say is going to be great. You love Scott.” 

Shane grins down at the water, scrubbing a pan. “Love you, too, you know.” 

Context is important here, and Ryan is incredibly aware of the parameters of which Shane’s sentiment is expressed. Ryan knows he can’t take those words and tuck them inside his chest and reciprocate them the way he’d like to. He knows Shane very clearly means _as a friend._ And yet, it doesn’t do anything to extinguish the wildfire that catches over his skin, making him smile big and wide. 

He elbows Shane instead of saying it back, because _I love you_ will be the catalyst that’ll empty his chest of all he’s recently realized and leave him hollow, heartbeat echoing in the carved out chasm of his ribcage.

They finish the dishes in a simple, companionable silence, working through pots and pans before Shane shuts the faucet off. He dries his hands on the legs of his jeans. 

“C’mon, let’s go have a fire, bud.” 

Ryan stacks the last of the dishes underneath the counter and follows Shane out into the backyard after grabbing a couple more beers. 

Shane sticks a couple skinny logs in the fire pit in the backyard. Ryan pops the caps off the beer bottles, handing one to Shane when he comes to sit down next to Ryan. 

“You look tired, dude,” Ryan says, drinking from his bottle. 

“I am,” Shane says. “Plane rides, man. They’re soul-sucking.” 

“You’d have to have a soul in order for that to be true,” Ryan teases. 

Shane cracks a grin. “I thought maybe on Sunday I’d show you around. Properly. We can go to some touristy spots I know you’ll like. Maybe a few lesser known.” 

“You gonna battle host this alone?” 

“Considering you know fuck-all about Chicago, I’m gonna have to,” Shane reasons. 

“Sounds cool.” Ryan takes another drink. “Do you miss it?” 

“Abstractly.” Shane shrugs. “My life’s different in California. Which is to be expected considering what we’re doing.” 

Ryan hums. “Think you’ll come back?” 

“When I’m sixty,” Shane says, his tone light. “Realistically, I’d probably head down to Orlando and find a lazy river to die in.” 

“Morbid, but fun.” 

“Such is life, my friend.” 

Ryan looks into the fire, and sighs. “To be honest, I didn’t think we’d be discussing mortality when we agreed to have this fire.” 

“Would you rather talk about ghosts?” Shane jokes. 

Ryan laughs. “No. I don’t know.” He sighs, picking at the label of his bottle. “You like Oliver, yeah?” 

Shane shrugs. “He’s a nice guy,” Shane says. “He’s good for Scott, Mom loves him. He’s easy enough to talk to. No complaints, I guess.” 

“But?” 

“Nothing. It just gets you thinkin’, I suppose.” 

“About you?” 

“So, tomorrow, right? The rehearsal—it’ll be great. But Saturday? Saturday will just—question after question. ‘Shane, when’ll you get hitched?’ and ‘Shane, you got a girl back home?’ and ‘Shane, what about kids?’ It’ll be exhausting. Midwesterners don’t like talking, but they sure love asking.” 

“It bothers you.” Ryan looks at the fire, shifts his feet closer. 

“It does. Because I don’t—” Shane cuts himself off. “It’s just hard to tell people how things really are. Things aren’t—” He makes a frustrated noise. “I don’t have the answers they’re looking for. Focusing on my career, on you—” 

“Me?” Ryan echoes, maybe a little too loudly, but even then, Shane looks away and clears his throat. 

“Watcher, I mean.” 

“Oh.” 

Shane doesn’t finish his sentiment, but he finishes his beer. Ryan follows suit. 

“You don’t have to be a certain _thing_ , Shane. You are what you are. And that’s good enough for a lot of people.” 

Shane gives him a curious smile; the firelight flickers over his features. He glows in the golden light, sweet, and there’s that desire again, to reach out, to touch, a wistful wish to be able to comfort. Ryan sits in his chair and shrugs. 

“You got me,” Ryan says. “And maybe there won’t be so many questions.” 

“You’re a whole ‘nother question,” Shane mutters. 

Ryan laughs. “Like how?” 

Shane shrugs. “You just are. You’re a question mark, Bergara.” 

“Excuse you, I’m a walking exclamation point.” 

Shane laughs, shaking his head. “You sure are something.” 

Ryan doesn’t know why he feels like _beaming_ from Shane’s words. 

They sit in front of the fire, content, tired, and Ryan wonders some. He wants to tell Shane. Just wants to look at him and say— 

What would he say? How could he possibly string together the mess of his emotions into something coherent that Shane could understand? Ryan doesn’t even understand himself. 

Glancing over at Shane, Ryan finds him with his head tipped back to the sky. His eyes are closed, and he could be mistaken for sleeping if his fingers weren’t drumming against his thighs. 

“At least we can see the stars out here,” Ryan says quietly. “Gotta go pretty far to see this in Cali.” 

“The smog alone,” Shane agrees. “Probably should at least wind down for bed. You ready?” 

“Yeah.” 

Shane puts out the fire and Ryan collects their empties, tossing them in the recycling bin. Shane leads him inside and upstairs. 

His suitcase is in Shane’s old bedroom. 

“Where’ll you sleep?” Ryan asks. 

“In the basement. I figured you’d hate it down there,” Shane says, sympathetic. 

“I would.” Ryan agrees. 

“You know where everything is. I’ll see you in the morning.” 

They stand there, in the middle of Shane’s room, looking at each other. Something emboldens Ryan to reach this time, to touch his fingers to Shane’s forearm. 

“You’re _good_ , Shane,” Ryan says. 

“I know, Ry.” Shane takes a deep breath. “Get some rest. You’re dead on your feet.” 

Ryan snorts. “Hardly.” 

“Sweet dreams, buttercup. Tomorrow’s a busy day.” Shane salutes him, and Ryan wheezes. 

The door closes with a soft thud and Ryan’s left alone. 

Now, Ryan’s not a snooper, but he is an observer. Shane’s parents have kept his bedroom the same for the most part, save for whatever Shane hasn’t taken with him; Ryan looks at what’s available. 

There aren’t trophies or certificates, but there are a lot of books and notebooks. VHS movies and DVDs. There’s an old Walkman with a cassette still inside of it. 

Shane does have an affinity for the classics. 

There’s sketched art, nothing like what Shane’s capable now, but it’s still _good_. 

After he showers and changes, he finds the sheets are soft when he climbs underneath them. 

-:-

After breakfast, Shane’s gone for the rest of the morning with his father, leaving Ryan sitting alone in the living room in front of the television with his phone in his hand, attention spliced between the both of them. 

“Hey, Ryan?” 

“Yes?” Ryan sets his phone down. Sherry comes into the room, wiping her hands on a dish towel. 

“Shane and Mark are going to be gone for awhile. I’m going to need some help carrying boxes of decorations. Do you mind?” 

“No, of course not,” he says. “I can grab my shoes.” 

“Excellent,” she says. “I’m sorry to rope you in—” 

“No, please. I’m literally doing nothing. I’m happy to help!” 

“You’re a sweetheart. I’m just finishing up the dishes, but I’ll come grab you in five.” 

Ryan nods, and heads up to Shane’s room to grab his sneakers. By the time he makes his way downstairs, Sherry’s got her keys in hand. He follows her out to the car. 

It’s a little weird, just hanging out with Shane’s mom, but she’s super kind, and reminds him of the softer bits Shane shows when he forgets to be _Midwestern_. Los Angeles has pried him open some. 

“So, how’s…everything?” Sherry asks, her attention on the road. 

Ryan laughs, wiping his palms on his pants. “Everything is good. Company’s doing well. Can’t really complain.” 

“That’s great. You know, Shane’s really proud of Watcher. For a while there, it was all he could talk about,” Sherry intones. “It’s nice to see him happy. He was such an odd kid.” 

“A good kid though. At least that’s what _he_ says.” 

“Oh, he was. Scott was much more of a handful, but Shane was easy. Didn’t get into trouble. Mostly paid attention to his games and movies.” 

“He’s exactly like that now,” Ryan says, and Sherry laughs. 

“I don’t know, Ryan. He comes home and he’s _happy_. We miss him, but whatever’s going on in LA is good for him.” Sherry’s smile is fond, curved sweet; the crinkles by her eyes are familiar—they’re the same Shane wears. “You know, we supported him when he moved—he didn’t want to be like Scott, but we could tell Schaumburg wasn’t going to be where he flourished.”

“I think he likes being home. The pace changes for him here. LA is—honestly it can be artificial, and I don’t think Shane likes that very much.”

“I don’t believe he does,” Sherry agrees. “Has he been dating?” she asks. Ryan purses his lips, unsure if he should speak on behalf of Shane. He decides to keep it vague as possible. A handful of dates, really, fleeting personalities Ryan never really sees again. 

“Here and there, but nothing serious. I think he’d be happy to let you know if there was someone worth mentioning.”

Sherry hums, and when Ryan looks over, she is smiling something secretive. Ryan wants to know why, but he doesn’t dare ask.

Eventually, they get to the event planner’s and Ryan lugs the boxes Sherry needs into the back of her SUV. They stop at three different stores before they make it to the actual location, by then, it’s late afternoon.

Sherry takes them back home, where Mark and Shane have pizzas ready in the kitchen. Sherry pushes him to help himself.

“You have a good time with Mom?” Shane asks around a bite of pizza, leaning back against the counter next to the fridge. Ryan reaches past him for a beer.

“My second favorite mom,” Ryan says.

Shane laughs.

“Can we have a fire again tonight?” Ryan looks up at Shane, and he shrugs.

“Sure, if you want.”

“It’s a novelty. Not many chances for fires with the whole drought situation.”

Shane smiles, kicks his foot out, nudging Ryan’s shin.

Ryan eats his pizza.

-:-

The four of them ride down to the venue in seamless quiet, the radio playing music. Ryan watches life rush past through the glass of the passenger window.

Sometimes, it feels like Los Angeles pauses when he isn’t there, as though as soon as he gets off the plane, California will press play and resume, in the middle of a song, in the middle of a conversation, in the middle of a thought.

When he leaves Chicago, it’ll pause, too, he thinks.

-:-

The rehearsal dinner is lovely. It’s mostly commotion; Ryan’s never seen the _behind the scenes_ of a wedding before, so it’s kind of fun, watching people mess up—Oliver is patient and sweet, handsome too, with shaggy blonde hair and bright blue eyes. He’s tall, taller than Ryan, of course. He has a honking laugh, one that makes Scott smile.

As they sit to eat dinner, Mark makes a lovely toast about Scott. It makes some people laugh, and others cry.

Mark makes a joke about Shane being on the market. Shane laughs, and Ryan laughs, too, but Ryan can see Shane’s face is tight, less amused than he lets on. 

-:-

Sitting out by the fire is different than it had been the night before. The air is crisp, cool over Ryan’s skin as the sun goes down and the stars come out. The moon is a sliver of light in the star-speckled sky.

They lay in the grass tonight, instead of lounging the chairs, and Ryan looks over and finds Shane’s got his head tipped back again, palms flat against the grass.

Ryan takes his chance here and just _looks_. There’s something natural about this, like Shane’s been slotted back in place. He’s relaxed in a way he really isn’t in California, he’s less … present, almost ephemeral, like he’ll fade into wisps of smoke carried away by the breeze.

And that’s not a bad thing; Shane’s—he’s fun and they have an incredible time in LA together. They’ve had good _moments_ in LA that aren’t captured by the lenses of their extensive collection of cameras. But here, the long line of Shane’s body is infinitely without ridges, without sharp edges. Somehow, he’s grounded, like he might seep into the grass and melt away.

Underneath the stars, Shane’s brow is at ease, mouth parted just slightly, skin aglow with the bright lick of flames.

Ryan rolls onto his side, threading his fingers through the cool blades of grass. He wants to reach out his hand, press it against the center of Shane’s chest. Walk his fingers down the line of his sternum and back up again, press the tip of his finger against the hollow of Shane’s throat. All the places where he’ll feel life, the steady beat of his pulse, the places where heat has collected underneath his flesh. Maybe Ryan could borrow some, warm himself with it.

He’s always so cold.

“A penny for your thoughts?” Ryan says, low, just a rumble of his voice, so he doesn’t disturb the tranquility they’ve cultivated.

Shane’s mouth curves into a slow smile, hitching up at the corner. “These are million dollar thoughts, Ry. Don’t know if you can afford to see them.”

Ryan hums. He thinks he’d sell everything he owns for just one thought. Even the most random. For the ability to peek inside the wires of Shane’s mind and _decipher_.

“Two pennies, then,” Ryan says eventually.

“A hard bargain.”

“Hopefully worthwhile.”

“Sometimes I don’t want to go back,” Shane says. “Most of the time, I’m ready to go home, but moments like this—I’d just like to stay a while longer.” He doesn’t open his eyes, doesn’t look over at Ryan. His body language doesn’t change. Ryan waits, doesn’t move for fear that Shane will close back up.

Silence sits between them, blooming like a flower.

“But LA’s got you, and Chicago’s flawed because of that.”

Ryan hums, biting the inside of his cheek.

“Mild displacement. Nostalgia. It’ll fade,” Shane says, like he’s talking to Ryan, but Ryan thinks, somewhat, that Shane’s trying to convince himself. There’s an ache in Ryan’s chest, sharper than he’s used to.

“I know.” Ryan plucks at the grass. He sprinkles the blades, so they spiral and float back down to the ground.

Shane turns, laying on his side so he faces Ryan, the sharp point of his elbow buried in the grass while he rests his head on the palm of his hand. Shane doesn’t reach out with his other hand but rests it in the grass. It’s only a short distance so the tips of their fingers will touch. Ryan hadn’t realized they were laying so close.

Ryan makes a man with his index and middle fingers. He doesn’t look at Shane’s face, just focuses his vision on the span of Shane’s hand in the grass. He walks his fingers the short distance. Shane’s breathy laughter makes Ryan smile as he steps his fingertips up the length of Shane’s middle finger, pausing on top of the back of Shane’s hand before Ryan hikes the mountain of Shane’s wrist, climbing up and up and up the treacherous length of Shane’s forearm.

Ryan uncurls his hand and wraps his fingers around Shane’s elbow.

“What are you doing?” Shane asks.

“I don’t know. Does it bother you?”

“No.”

So, Ryan keeps his hand there and closes his eyes.

-:-

The wedding goes off without a hitch. Ryan sits next to Sherry, and while she cries most of the time, Ryan can’t help but shed a tear when Oliver and Scott share their vows.

Shane is handsome in his tux, crisp and clean-cut, hair brushed back from his face. He catches Ryan’s attention a few times, eyes bright and shiny. Shane’s emotions wear on his face, in the crinkles by his eyes, the lines around his mouth when he smiles.

After the wedding, they’re all ushered into the reception hall. Ryan was there when they set it up, but draped with the magic of an actual wedding, everything seems to sparkle and glow. There are women in cocktail dresses, men dressed up in suits, kids with juice stains down the front of their clothes. 

Ryan sits at a table with people he doesn’t know, but they’re chatty and he manages to make fast friends.

“When Scott asked me to be his best man he said, ‘I don’t really want you to speak at my wedding, but you’re the only brother I have.’ So, here we are.” 

The room laughs and Shane grins. He spills into anecdotes of him and Scott as children, how they’d always, for the most part, gotten along. It’s a slice of Shane’s life Ryan knows, but there’s something about the way Shane speaks that makes it sound like Shane’s divulging secrets. He’s funny and charming, so kind and adoring when he talks about Oliver. 

“Don’t mean to be _that guy_ , but the concept of soulmates never really made sense to me. The world has north of seven billion people crawling all over it. To think that there’s one person made for you—well, it seems nearly impossible. Looking at Oliver and Scott, I like to think luck is on their side. I guess the only thing that sucks for Oliver is that he’s going to have to live a life where everyone knows how to pronounce Smith. ‘Madej’ is five letters, but people sure find creative ways to say it.”

Shane flips the page on his script and hesitates. “If I’m half as lucky, though, there’s someone out there that won’t mind that Madej men are a hundred and fifty percent the average male height.”

Ryan grins, shaking his head while laughter flickers around the room.

“There’ll be someone I can make laugh, even when we push a joke a little too far, and no one else is laughing but us. There’ll be someone who might not share the same views as me on some things, but supports me anyway, the same way I go through exhausting lengths to support them.”

It’s not like Ryan’s sitting far away, but he’s definitely not front row to all the speeches. And yet, for some reason, in a room full of people Shane’s known most of his life, he looks at Ryan.

“We wish you the best, Scott and Ollie. Cheers,” Shane finishes, raising his drink. The room shudders with the sound of applause.

-:-

The night ends just like Shane had said it would. Question after question, deflected with a joke or a story, Shane steering them away from prying into his personal life. Sometimes, Shane throws Ryan into a conversation, and disappears, leaving Ryan to struggle to entertain conversations despite not knowing the person he’s talking with.

Shane usually shows back up with a drink, half-finished, and a new drink for Ryan.

Ryan can see Shane’s at the end of his rope. He doesn’t know if Shane would rather the rope be cut so he could fall free, or if Ryan should use the rope to pull him out of trouble. Either way, Shane drinks some more, so Ryan drinks, too.

-:-

They get _spectacularly_ drunk.

Neither Ryan or Shane can stop laughing in the back of the Uber, and Ryan can’t remember what the hell was so funny in the first place, but he follows Shane into the house, still tittering with giggles.

Shane’s parents haven’t come home yet. 

In the living room, Ryan falls against the couch and kicks off his shoes, leaving them sprawled over the floor. “I think I left my jacket at the—the—” Ryan doesn’t bother finishing, and Shane comes out of the kitchen with two beers, caps removed, sitting next to Ryan.

“Mom’ll probably snag it if she sees it. And if not—it’s fine,” Shane says, sighing as he sinks back into the couch. He loosens his necktie, runs his fingers through his hair.

“Yeah,” Ryan agrees, watching Shane’s hair fall messy. It’ll be fine, it’s just a suit jacket. “It was nice, Shane.”

“What?”

“The wedding. Your speech. I liked your speech. You didn’t wing it, did you?”

“Only some parts.” Shane turns to look at him.

“It was good. Made me feel.” Ryan sighs, wistful.

“Feel what?”

Ryan shrugs. “Just the—the general _feel_. You looked at me and I felt it.”

Shane only smiles as he takes a drink. Ryan copies him.

“You’re always feeling things,” Shane says finally. “It’s what you do.”

“Sometimes I don’t feel anything.”

“That’s _not_ true,” Shane accuses, absolutely correct.

“You’re right,” Ryan sighs. “I’m lying. I always feel everything. Can you imagine how that feels? I wish I could be like you. I wish I could feel nothing.”

“I feel things, Ryan. I just don’t yell about it all the time,” Shane says. Ryan winces. He knows what he’s said hadn’t been delivered quite right, but Shane doesn’t seem bothered.

“Oh yeah?” Ryan presses, setting his beer on the coffee table. He folds his legs underneath himself, resting his head against the back of the couch. “Name three things you feel things about. Real things. Things that have the capacity to—to change your life.”

“Obi.”

Ryan doesn’t mean to, but he splutters his laugh, cackling.

Shane hums, grinning. “Popcorn.”

“Yeah, you definitely are horny for popcorn.”

Shane quirks an eyebrow, sipping from his beer. It makes Ryan remember that he’s got his own, but he reaches to grab for Shane’s instead. Shane doesn’t fight him. Ryan tips it back, finishing it off. He sets the empty bottle next to his on the coffee table.

“You have one more thing,” Ryan reminds him.

“I know.”

“What is it?”

“I’ll tell you when I find out.” 

Ryan smiles at Shane, kicking his legs up over Shane’s thighs. Shane wraps a wide, warm hand around his ankle, thumb pressing into the bone.

“Tom Cruise!” Shane shouts, and it startles Ryan before they both dissolve into wild laughter.

Ryan knows he’s joking. Ryan knows that Shane doesn’t really occupy the third spot on this list with Tom Cruise, but it makes Ryan want to ask about spot number four. Spots five through ten. Spots eleven through one hundred. From 101 to a million.

Surely, there’s a spot for Ryan in there somewhere.

-:-

It’s dark when Ryan blinks his eyes open. There’s an ache in his neck from where he’s leaned forward and fallen asleep on Shane’s shoulder. Shane’s still sleeping, and they’ve been covered with a blanket. Through the bleariness of his eyes and a little dizzy from the alcohol, he notices their beer bottles have been collected.

He gets off the couch, his joints popping as he stumbles over his shoes.

“Where are you going?” Shane mumbles, his voice low and rough.

He looks behind himself to see Shane stretching out, laying properly on the couch. “Gotta pee.”

Shane grunts and Ryan goes, managing to keep upright without knocking anything over as he finds the bathroom. He finishes, washes his hands, and has a thought to climb up the stairs and go to bed, leaving Shane behind. It feels like _too much_ to tuck himself between Shane and the couch, but Ryan is still drunk, and he doesn’t want to sleep alone.

He makes his way back through to the living room, climbing over Shane’s body to tuck himself into a space that’s admittedly too small to fit him, but Shane is warm.

“What the fuck, Ry—”

“Shh, you’re being loud,” Ryan admonishes, burrowing into Shane’s chest.

“We don’t fit,” Shane protests.

“Then you’re not trying hard enough,” Ryan huffs, shuffling in closer.

Shane laughs, winding his arm around Ryan’s waist. Their knees knock together as Ryan pulls the blanket over them. He settles.

“You’re three,” Shane says.

“What?”

“You’re _three_.”

“Excuse you, I’m twenty-nine.”

“Jesus Christ,” Shane mutters. “Go to sleep.”

“I’m trying, but you keep yammering.” Ryan presses his face against Shane’s collarbone, letting his eyes fall closed.

-:-

In the morning, Shane is gone and Ryan’s cold and hungover to high fucking hell. 

There’s quiet clatter in the kitchen, and Ryan figures he should get up and quit hogging the living room. 

In the kitchen, Shane's sitting at the dinner table, coffee set in front of him and his head in his hands. Ryan smiles, despite his own predicament. 

“Sleeping beauty,” Shane mumbles when he looks up. “Thought you might’ve died.” 

“I feel dead,” Ryan mutters. He's still in last night’s clothes, and so is Shane. 

“Sorry for falling asleep on you,” Shane says. “I don’t even remember falling asleep.” 

“Neither do I,” Ryan murmurs. Well, he sort of does. He remembers the second time, climbing over Shane to squeeze into the space between the seatback and Shane’s body. He fixes himself a mug of coffee, ignoring the heat in his collar. “Are you still up for going out today? It’s okay if you aren’t.” 

“No, I am. Just need some food and a shower and we can go,” Shane says. He smiles at Ryan, drinking from his mug. 

“Yeah alright,” Ryan says, smiling back. 

Sherry greets them, looking like she feels just as terrible as they do. “You boys, too?” 

“It was a celebration,” Shane reasons. 

“That it was. You boys have plans?” she asks. “Want some breakfast?” 

“Yes, to both, please,” Ryan says. “Shane’s taking me to Chicago.”

“Oh, yeah. Mom, can I borrow your car?” Shane asks.

“Of course, honey. Keys are on the hook.”

Sherry makes them homemade waffles, and the three of them eat, chatting and drinking their coffees. Afterwards, Ryan excuses himself to shower, and gets ready for the day. Shane meets him in the living room, looking worlds better, hair fluffy even though he’s tucked it under a hat. 

Shane drives Ryan out to the city.

It’s gorgeous out, bright, high seventies. All Ryan’s got on is a t-shirt and jeans, sunglasses and a hat turned backwards. Ryan should keep his eyes out the window, taking in Shane’s city since he won’t be back for a while—if ever—but instead, he watches the relaxed way Shane drives.

The seat is pushed all the way back. Shane slouches, one hand on the wheel while the other drums out a rhythm against the driver’s side trim panel where the window is rolled down. He’s humming along to the music, something Ryan’s never heard. He wonders if it’s like the CD he got in LA, supporting an unknown Chicagoan band because he liked them when he’d seen them in a bar. 

When they get into the city, Shane takes him first to Woodfield Mall.

Ryan doesn’t tell Shane that it’s _just_ a mall. He enjoys Shane’s excitement as they ride the escalators up and down.

“You know,” Shane says, “last year, someone drove right through those windows.”

“Like crashed?” Ryan says, eyebrows all the way up.

“Like crashed.” Shane grins. “Fuckin’ idiots. Destroying a beautiful thing. Can’t take down Woodfield.”

“You’re way too invested, Shane. It’s a _mall_.”

“Hey, I don’t go bashing your precious shoe stores—”

“Oh, yeah you do, dude—do not even go there.”

“Let’s not—let’s not argue.” Shane holds his hands up defensively, grinning.

“Whatever, man.” Ryan rolls his eyes, but he’s too fond to really be annoyed. “Where to next?”

Shane waggles his eyebrows.

It’s Cloud Gate.

Shane’s nearly vibrating out of his skin by the time they get there. The monument is surrounded by a hoard of people, like ants on a dropped Cheeto. Shane opens his mouth to say something, but Ryan holds up his hand.

“I know, I know,” Ryan interjects, before Shane can go on his whole spiel. “Shane Madej, Father of Puppets, Born Under the Bean, Cloud Gate Nation, Last of His Name. Hashtag Midwest rise up.” 

Shane laughs with his whole being and it makes Ryan feel like a balloon, much too light to stay anywhere near the ground. Delight tugs at the corners of Shane’s eyes, turning them to half-moons with how big he smiles.

“That was good,” Shane says, shaking his head. “Come here.” Shane takes Ryan by the arm, pulling him closer.

As Ryan stands next to Shane, they proceed to make a half a dozen ridiculous faces, before they settle on a complementary shot where they smile big. Shane posts it to Instagram. Ryan doesn’t care about the connotations, what the comments might say, how many screenshots will be taken and reworked so it might seem like they’re secretly in love.

Ryan’s secretly in love, so he’s looking forward to getting drunk and taking that deep dive.

-:-

It's such a good day, carefree and fun. Even though he sees Shane every day, Ryan’s missed him. He’s a different person without cameras and posturing and being overly present when they film. Ryan hangs onto that feeling. 

Afterwards, Shane takes him to a brightly lit oddities and antiques store. They rummage through weird finds, pointing at peculiar and ugly things and saying, “Hey, look, it’s you.”

In a bowl at the back of the store, Ryan finds a neat coin he pays a couple dollars for. It has scalloped edges, the sides mostly worn, but he can tell one side has the face of a woman.

Shane doesn’t pick anything up, but he makes friends with the woman manning the register, asking about this, that, and the other.

When they’re done, Shane takes him up to Navy Pier. Shane pays their admission to ride the Ferris wheel, because Shane knows Ryan absolutely loves them.

While they’re high up, looking down at Shane’s city through the glass windows, Shane says, “Sorry I don’t have a Knott’s to top it all off.”

“Har har.”

“Thank you, thank you, tip your waiter," Shane says, taking Ryan’s fake laugh anyway.

Ryan digs in his pocket and offers Shane the coin he’d bought at the antique store.

“No, you should keep that,” Shane says without taking it.

“Consider it luck,” Ryan insists. “I’m sure you’ll need it at some point.”

Shane smiles, the edges of his eyes soft, something about his expression vulnerable.

“Thank you, monsieur,” Shane says, pocketing the coin. The air is infinitely warmer now between them in their Ferris wheel cart. Ryan looks out the window, down at the buildings.

“You’re such a dork,” he says, but there’s that sticky feeling, catching in his lungs now. He takes a deep breath, like it’ll clear it away, but it’s like a countertop at Waffle House.

It’s perpetual, and he deals with it because the hash browns are dope at three in the morning. 

Shane is hash browns, apparently, and every hour of the day is three in the morning. 

So, Ryan’s _dealing with it_. 

-:-

The rest of the afternoon is spent wandering around Chicago, eating pizza for dinner again, because it really is _that_ good. They find a bar and Ryan has a drink while Shane watches the band that plays. It’s not very good, according to Shane. It sounds like noise to Ryan.

They get home late and retreat to their respective beds. 

Ryan lies awake most of the night, staring at the ceiling, wishing more that they could stay. That they didn’t have to go back yet. That they could reside within this limbo where—

Where they exist this close to each other and it’s okay.

In Los Angeles, barriers will be rebuilt. They will stand next to each other, but apart. Ryan will _not_ climb over sofas to sleep with Shane. Will _not_ hold his elbow while he listens to Shane humming in the backyard while the fire crackles by their feet. He will _not_ think about the way Shane had looked at him during his best man’s speech, saying things and maybe meaning them. Maybe not.

Nothing is going to change.

Ryan falls asleep, wading morosely in his unrequited love.

-:-

Ryan wakes up with the realization that nothing would change unless he did something about it. So, he decides he’s _gotta._

He knows Shane. Knows Shane doesn’t make the first move. Knows Shane doesn’t purposefully flirt. He knows Shane wouldn’t confess things. He isn’t the one to pass the note. Ryan’s the one that has to craft the _Do You Like Me, Check Yes or No_ note and pass it to Shane and wait helplessly as Shane decides on his answer.

Otherwise, they’ll be stuck at an impasse Ryan so badly wants to progress from. 

-:-

When they get to the airport, Ryan’s weirdly wide awake, but Shane is soft and sleepy and lethargic, wearing a ball cap and a sweatshirt. Ryan wants to do something stupid, like press his hands against Shane’s scruffy cheeks and hold his face.

They check their bags and find seats in the terminal. Shane doesn’t plug in, and Ryan attempts to take several calming breaths, but he’s having a hard time.

“Shane?” Ryan says, before he can chicken out.

“Yeah?” Shane turns to look at him, blinking behind his glasses.

“Uh.” Ryan clears his throat. “This is—probably going to be the biggest mistake of my life, but who cares, right? Who cares? Stupid things happen all the time and sometimes they work out just fine. Sometimes everything is _great_ afterwards.”

Shane’s brow furrows. “Okay?”

“Okay. So. You mean a lot to me, you know. And sometimes I hate it, how I look at you and think that maybe I just never want you to go anywhere. That you just—you should just stay here with me, for—I don’t know. A long time. Forever, maybe. Something really gross that makes us both cringe because—you know—we aren’t like that. But it's all just, like—I just—it didn’t occur to me for a really long time that I’m just— _gone_ for you, man. Like really gone, just really lost. I don’t even know. I just—I love you. Oh, my God, I love you. So. You’d buy a house with me? Cool, ‘cause I want to buy a house with you. And live in it. And, like, be the kind of people that own a house together.” Ryan expels a breath, wiping his hands on his thighs.

Shane blinks, his lips pursed, but there isn’t—there isn’t anything in the rigidity of his body that tells Ryan the next words that will tumble out of Shane’s mouth are _I love you, too._

“Oh, _Ryan_ ,” Shane says softly, frowning. 

“No. No, _don’t_ say my name like that,” Ryan says, his heart rate spiking, slamming hard against his sternum.

“We—we can’t do this,” Shane finally offers. The brightness in his irises has dimmed and he sighs.

“What? Why not?” 

“It’s—it’s probably the worst time for us to do this.” 

“Okay, so what time will be good?” Ryan asks, like he can mark a date in his calendar, even though he knows exactly what Shane means.

“I don’t know—I don’t know if there _is_ a time.” Shane’s words hit Ryan too hard, right in the solar plexus, leaving him breathless.

“Shane—” Ryan reaches out for Shane but pulls away, just the slightest hint of movement in the seat next to Ryan’s and the action hurts Ryan more than any of Shane’s words could. Sure, Shane can turn him down, but to pull away? After spending so much time being close?

“I can’t believe you dropped that on me in an airport on our way home,” Shane mutters.

“Well, I—I thought you’d be receptive to it, Shane.” Ryan’s jaw aches with how hard he clenches his teeth.

“I am—listen, it’s not that I—you mean so much to me, Ryan. We can’t ruin that because I made a joke about buying a house with you.” 

“Why does it have to be a joke? Why can’t it just be something you want and could possibly, eventually obtain?” 

“Because I’d rather have you as a friend where things are a little cloudy, than start something that maybe won’t work out. There’s no sense in burning everything down.” 

“We wouldn’t—”

“We don’t know that. Ryan—” Shane sighs, taking off his glasses and setting them on the seat next to him, rubbing his face with his hands. “ _Ryan_.”

“It’s fine. No worries—let me just—the last five minutes never happened, okay? We’re good.” Ryan stands and starts walking, looking down at his phone for the time. It doesn’t matter how far away he gets—he has to board the plane in an hour. 

He ignores Shane’s voice calling after him.

There’s so much feeling clogged in his chest. He doesn’t cry about it, even though he wants to. Sort of, he would like to rewind time and tell his past self to shut up, don’t say anything, because it isn’t going to _change_ anything at all. At least he knows that now. Hindsight, blah, blah, blah.

To be fair, when all the signs down the road he’s driving tell him he’s going the right way, he doesn’t exactly expect to reach a dead end. And optimistically, nothing has changed yet. Shane’s aware of emotions Ryan harbors that he can’t reciprocate, and that’s fine.

Ryan knows he has to throw out the imaginary issues of _Better Homes and Gardens_ and just live with the fact that it’s going to be just him in his one bedroom apartment for a little while longer. 

Timing isn’t always good. However, Ryan doesn’t think there’s no time for them at all. There has to be.

Because Shane hadn’t exactly said _no_.

But he most certainly hadn’t said _yes_.

What Ryan knows right now, is that he doesn’t want to sit on a plane for the next four and a half hours pretending to be okay with Shane sitting right next to him, who will probably, most likely _actually_ be okay.

Ryan sits in a different gate and waits, scrolling through his phone, wondering where he’d found the bravery to make a mess out of everything. Kicking himself for it. 

There’s a supercut of all the moments he’s collected lately. It starts with the bar, but does it really? Does it really start one summer day in June? Probably, but definitely not just this _past_ June. Afterall, he has a spreadsheet that dictates that Shane’s quote-unquote _heart-eyes_ go back further than a month ago. 

God, even that’s startling. Ryan said _I love you_. After a whole month.

He smacks a palm to his forehead. “Fuck,” he huffs under his breath.

To be fair to himself, Ryan has always felt emotions in exponents. His anxiety, his attraction, his fear, his bravery.

_Hey, group two is boarding._

_Should probably make your way back._

_Or maybe_ , Ryan thinks spitefully, _I’ll just live in the airport and never go home._

Ryan walks back to their gate, finds Shane standing in line with his bag on his shoulder, Ryan’s things cradled in his arms. Ryan accepts them when Shane hands them over.

Shane looked tired this morning, but it’s more pronounced now that his face is closed off. Ryan looks up at Shane for a handful of moments before looking away.

“Hey, Ryan—”

“It’s okay, Shane,” he says. “It’s fine. I will—” he isn’t eloquent enough to say what he means, so he shrugs instead.

“I’m sorry.”

“I know.”

On the plane, Ryan asks a flight attendant to switch his seat. She does.

-:-

Feelings are not detrimental to one’s well-being. Ryan knows this. They’re how he experiences life the way he does. Why his memories are so vibrant and big, tangible if he thinks hard enough.

He takes a week away from the office anyway, manages to work from home on his laptop, navigates filming so all he has to do is show up.

A bit like Unsolved in a sense, only there when he absolutely needs to be.

-:-

Ryan’s fine. He doesn’t do anything _drastic._ He’s had unrequited crushes before. He can navigate this. But it’s difficult, because Shane gives him these soft, apologetic eyes, and Ryan wants to be mad, but he isn’t. He can’t be. He’s just bruised.

It plain ol’ _sucks_ , looking at the person you sort of realize you’re in love with, and they don’t have those kinds of feelings for you in return. 

So, Ryan pines for a little while, and eventually it gets easier, but it’s not like it goes _away_. That’s a pipe dream if he’s ever heard one.

-:-

And it’s not that he’s waiting, but it’s a little bit like he is. He keeps expecting Shane to turn to him, to call him, text him, send him a goddamn smoke signal and tell Ryan, _okay, it’s time now._

Except he doesn’t. 

-:-

It’s going to take some rebranding he decides.

So, Ryan downloads Tinder.

He meets Lena, Sofia, Isobel. One of them is dinner and dancing. One takes him hiking. And one is a lunch date on a Sunday.

He doesn’t sleep with any of them, but the company is nice. He doesn’t see any of them a second time.

Ryan deletes Tinder.

-:-

As promised, Ryan does go on his drunk deep dive.

It doesn’t help anyone. It most certainly does not help himself. But for a little while, tipsy on Chardonnay, he holds his wine glass and lets himself live in a fantasy with the specific brand of fans that think he and Shane are into each other. Sadly, they only have it half-right. Or whole-right but minus a few points.

He’s had too much wine to properly figure out how right they are.

It’s only a little funny, scrolling through the dark parts of Twitter, the tags on Tumblr. It’s a whole lot depressing.

Alcohol and feelings were never a good combination.

-:-

Ryan downloads Tinder.

He meets Josh, Luke, Carlos.

One of them is a movie date. One of them is drinks. One of them is a lunch date on a Sunday afternoon.

He doesn’t sleep with any of them, but the company is nice. He doesn’t see any of them a second time.

Ryan deletes Tinder.

-:-

The team manages to coral him into drinks on a Tuesday in late August. Ryan’s hesitant, ready to lie about dinner with his folks that is definitely not planned.

It’s not Shane asking, but Steven. And Steven’s giving him a pleading look, with his brow furrowed, frowning. His blue hair peeks out from underneath his cap.

“Please, Ryan? It’s been weird the last, like, month and a half. Don’t know what happened, and I don’t want to know what happened, but maybe you just need a break or something.”

“Alcohol almost never helps anything,” Ryan says bitterly. But he joins them anyway.

TJ doesn’t join them, and neither does Brittney, or anyone else from their team, so it’s only Steven, Katie, Ryan, and Shane.

Katie and Steven sit next together, which leaves Ryan and Shane on the other side of the booth. Ryan’s gotten past avoiding Shane completely, has taken to sitting next to Shane while working. He’s _fine_.

They grab drinks and talk about work. They talk about Katie’s husband and their upcoming vacation. They talk about the nice girl Steven’s seeing from his church. They talk about stupid videos they’ve seen on the ‘tube, and Shane and Ryan derail the conversation talking about movies. The usual stuff, good stuff, the stuff that makes Ryan forget about the rest.

The four of them divide and conquer a pool table. Ryan doesn’t mind being on a team with Shane. Even high fives him when they _demolish_ Katie and Steven.

“Another round, a rematch,” Steven tries, nudging Ryan’s arm with his elbow.

“I gotta go, Steve,” Katie says. “But you boys have fun.” She pats Steven on the chest on the way out of the bar.

Steven clears his throat. “Well, you know what they say, three’s a crowd.” So, Steven shuffles away, too.

Standing by the pool table, Ryan looks up at Shane, who’s already looking down at him. “I can wait with you while you get a ride home,” he says, chivalrous as ever, but Ryan shakes his head.

“Let’s just stay. We can play another game, have a few more drinks,” Ryan decides, shrugging his shoulders, holding his cue stick with both hands.

“Ryan, I—”

“You’re still my friend, Shane. We can still play pool and have beers. I’m—”

Shane clears his throat.

So, they stay, and play pool, and drink some more. Enough that Ryan laughs and forgets why he isn’t supposed to notice the crinkles by Shane’s eyes, or the scruff of Shane’s beard, or the way Shane’s lips are so much pinker when he drinks.

His memories taste like whiskey, like wedding cake, like the beer from Mark and Sherry’s fridge that he and Shane shared on the couch. They taste like city air, like deep dish pizza, like apple pie. They smell like smoke, feel like fire.

They make him dizzy when he looks at Shane across the pool table and lines up the winning shot.

They laugh so sincerely for the first time in a long time, it feels like.

When they leave the bar, there are lights in Ryan’s eyes, and his brain feels like Party City, and Shane’s hand presses low against Ryan’s back, ushering him outside.

It starts to rain. It starts to rain, and Ryan should get out of it, but he doesn’t want to, stepping hard into the small puddles on the sidewalk. Water splashes everywhere.

“Ryan, Ryan, what are you doing?” Shane calls to him.

“I’m singing in the rain.” Ryan swings himself around a lamppost, face turned up to the sky. The water droplets splash against his face, warm, because it’s California and it never cools down. “ _Just singing in the rain,”_ Ryan sings, at the very top of his lungs. “ _What a glorious feeling I’m happy again._ ”

Ryan swings around the lamppost again, and his fingers slip, but it doesn’t matter of course, because Shane’s there to catch him. Ryan collides right into his chest, throwing his head back.

“ _I'm laughing at clouds. So dark up above, the sun's in my heart,_ ” Ryan sings, much softer now. His hands are on Shane’s shoulders, and Shane’s looking down at him like he’s never seen Ryan before. And maybe he hasn’t, not like this. Not like, maybe he doesn’t care anymore. Shane’s arms wind around his waist holding him securely on the sidewalk. “ _And I’m ready for love.”_

“ _Ryan_ ,” Shane says, and it sounds like he’s trying to say something else.

“Shane,” Ryan says, looking right up at him, into Shane’s eyes that shine behind the water-spotted lenses of his glasses. “It’s raining. It’s raining and I’m in love with you. Just let me be.” 

They stand there, underneath the waterfall, letting it wash over them. Maybe it’ll absolve them of all their fears, of all their hesitation, Ryan hopes. Ryan slides his hands over the wet fabric of Shane’s button-up, pulling his arms from around Ryan’s waist to take his hands. He tugs Shane along, so they stand underneath the canopy sheltering the doorway for a restaurant next door that’s closed for the night. Ryan leans against the glass and brings Shane close. Shane crowds into him, a hand on the glass behind Ryan. He smells good, like fresh air and trees and rain.

“Come home with me,” Ryan says, looking up through his lashes. Shane’s hair is wet now, stuck to his forehead. His eyelashes are clumped together, and there’s a flush Ryan can see on his cheeks.

“We’re drunk,” Shane murmurs, looking down from his eyes.

“So?” Ryan sets his hands on Shane’s cheeks. “So, what?”

“So, bad decisions get made when we’re drunk.” Shane curls a hand around Ryan’s hip, thumb brushing over bare skin. Ryan shivers.

Ryan sighs, running his fingers through the back of Shane’s head, through the hair that’s dripping with rainwater. “I’d rather be a bad drunk decision than a sober non-decision.” 

“Ryan—” 

“I know, I know. I can’t always get what I want. But when have you ever seen me not fight for something I want real bad?” 

Shane doesn’t say anything, just heaves a sigh. His hand slips from Ryan’s hip to his back, and somehow their bodies press closer, warm where they’re touching despite the fact that they’re soaking. 

“I want you real bad,” Ryan says lowly. “Just buy the stupid metaphorical house with me, Shane.” 

Shane smiles, luminous in the dark. “That’s not how this works.” 

“Why not, Shane?” Ryan whispers, smiling, too. “What if it works and you’re wrong?” 

“Ry…” 

“Tell me you don’t want it. Tell me you don’t,” Ryan coaxes.

“I can’t,” Shane admits, his head ducking down so much closer to Ryan’s. Ryan sucks in a sharp breath, tilting his head back. He blinks and Shane’s eyes close.

“So—” 

“If it works, then great. It’d be great. But what if it doesn’t? I can’t—I can’t be selfish at the expense of others. It could be cataclysmic. We could _ruin_ each other.” 

“Ruin me, Shane,” Ryan pleads.

Shane’s eyes flash open, looking at him, hot and intense. It feels like Ryan’s body catches fire, like he’s been doused in kerosene and Shane’s lighting matches.

“Ryan—” 

“I don’t care,” Ryan insists. “I don’t. At least I’d know. Do you know what it’s like to wonder?” 

“Of course, I do, Ryan.” Shane’s brows knit together as he shrugs. “I’ve been wondering for years.” 

“ _Years_?” Ryan pulls back, looks at Shane properly, the soft curve of his embarrassed smile.

“It’s not been easy,” Shane says, shrugging one shoulder.

“We could make it easy. And then you won’t have to wonder anymore. I’m not a _question_ anymore, Shane.” 

“You’re not exactly an answer, either.” 

“I don’t like this metaphor.” 

“I should get you home, Ryan. I’ll see you in the morning.” 

“Fine. Fine,” Ryan relents. “When you go home, though,” Ryan says, quiet, running his fingers through Shane’s hair, pushing it back from his forehead. “I want you to think about it. All night. I want you to think about me. I want you to think about all the stupid reasons you’re telling me no.”

Shane licks his lips. “Why are you like this?” 

Ryan grins. “Cause I really like hash browns.” 

-:-

Ryan unlocks the door and lets himself in. Everything is quiet, and it’s dark. He strips from his wet clothes, walking down towards his bedroom. He can still hear his laugh, can still feel Shane all along his body. And Ryan kind of, really, sort of just wants to jerk off about it. He could, he thinks, as he flops down onto his bed and climbs underneath the covers.

But it’s three in the morning and he really feels like watching _Singing in the Rain._

Another part of him, a gentler part, is stupidly grateful that they could have had that conversation, and still be here. 

_Joke’s on you_ , Ryan thinks. _We didn’t blow up at all_.

Granted, they’re teetering along something precarious, something dangerous, but if Ryan were to compare this feeling to being cliffside, he’d say there’s a fence at the edge. They aren’t hurtling over it. Just peering over; he has an inkling that Shane’s using his height to his advantage being able to see over it.

Ryan falls asleep before the movie even starts.

-:-

In the morning, Ryan steels himself to live in a world where he has feelings for a person who has feelings for him but won’t do anything about it. 

Maybe, for a while, Ryan’s just got to live with his hash brown craving, and order French fries instead. It’s not the same, it could never even hope to be close, but it’ll have to do.

His head aches, but it eases after he slams some water and showers, popping a couple aspirin to kill the minor hangover before he gets to work.

When he gets into the office, things are decidedly not different. There’s coffee waiting for him at his desk. Shane’s plugged into his computer, and Ryan still feels that stickiness in his chest, but it’s fine. He’s got this.

Surprisingly, though, Shane turns to him before he sits down.

“You got a second?” Shane asks, chucking off his headphones.

“Yeah, what’s wrong?” Ryan asks, setting his bag in his chair.

“Nothing,” Shane laughs. “I just thought it would be nice to go for a walk.” 

“A walk,” Ryan echoes.

“Yeah.” 

Shane takes him outside, and they meander down the sidewalk. It’s sunny and hot, and Ryan looks up at Shane, yanks his arm so he’ll stop walking. Ryan eyes him curiously. “Shane—like, two things. One: it’s the middle of a workday, and we have work to do. And two: you’re scaring me a little bit, please don’t tell me whatever you have is terminal.” 

Shane laughs, shaking his head. “I don’t have anything. I literally just—things got weird and we need to make them un-weird.” Shane shoves his hands into his pockets. 

“ _Weird_ —” Ryan refrains from placing blame. “How do you propose we do such a thing?” 

“Well,” Shane starts, rocking on his feet, “the economy is in shambles, Ryan, we cannot financially and responsibly purchase a house. We just can’t. It would be far too small, in a neighborhood you’d hate, and too far away from everything. However! I’ve got a nifty coin, and if you’d like, we can play heads or tails to see who’s apartment we can shack up in.” Shane takes his hand out of his pocket and presents Ryan with the coin he’d bought from the antique store in Chicago. Ryan picks it up from Shane’s palm and examines it, like it holds the secrets to the universe. And then he breaks out into a smile so wide it must be contagious, because Shane smiles, too. 

“Shane, this is—very cute, and like, sort of romantic—I’m feeling the tingles.” 

“But?” 

“But,” Ryan starts, taking in a deep breath. “But there’s no way I’m moving all my shit into your apartment when your _heating doesn’t work_.” 

“So, then we’ll live in your one bedroom.” 

“Yeah.” 

“And share a bed,” Shane says, waggling his eyebrows. 

“Jeez, at least kiss me first,” Ryan says, rolling his eyes. 

Shane laughs. 

“I need more wooing than this,” Ryan decides after a moment. 

“What’s more wooing than agreeing to move in together and share a bed?” 

“Wine would be nice,” Ryan says. “A slice of pizza maybe? Jesus Christ, Shane.” 

“How about dinner?” 

“ _There_ we go.” 

“Tonight. Seven? I made reservations.” 

“ _Shane_! What if I’d told you to fuck off?” 

“I would have just cancelled the reservations,” Shane says. Like it’s painfully obvious. 

“I can’t with you sometimes.” 

“Only sometimes, though, it seems,” Shane points out, reaching out to take Ryan’s hand in his own, slotting their fingers together. 

Ryan smiles, looking down at their hands and then up at Shane. “Yes, only sometimes.” 

“Alright, baller. I’ll take that.” 

“God, you’re an idiot.” 

Shane hums, but his grin is telling. “I thought about you. Like you told me. And while I can’t discount all the reasons why this won’t leave egg on our faces, I have to face all the reasons you and me work like nothing else.”

“Shane,” Ryan huffs. “You have to kiss me. You have to kiss me right—”

Shane circles his arm around Ryan’s waist and pulls him up to meet him in a kiss. It doesn’t work, not immediately, because Ryan’s laughing too much, and Shane’s laughing, too, but when they try again, when they kiss properly, their lips slot together. Ryan can feel the scruff of Shane’s beard, the pressure of his mouth, soft and sweet, right there underneath the California sun.

-:-

They go back to the office and start the workday, and it’s exciting because nothing is different. Nothing, not a single thing. 

He’s got feelings and they’re threatening to choke him to death, but it’s fine, cause, as it happens, Shane’s looking at him the same way he has the whole time he’s known him, and wow, had Ryan _really_ been _this_ blind the _whole_ time? 

-:-

They have dinner as planned, dressed up in button downs. Ryan wears jeans that don’t have tears in them. It’s a good time with Shane, like it always is. Their conversation never falters, and Ryan’s cheeks hurt from laughing so much.

Which is the usual when they take their bits too far, because that’s who they are.

After dinner, they walk down the brightly lit sidewalk and stand in line to get ice cream.

Shane slips his fingers between the spaces of Ryan’s own.

-:-

They’re stopped at a red light, a block before Ryan’s got to make the turn for Shane’s apartment instead of his own. There’s a fizziness in his stomach, and he bites down on his lip when the light turns green. 

What’s the proper etiquette here? Can he invite Shane up to his without ruining everything? It just happened today, all this wonderful newness, the feeling of Shane pulling him close and kissing him, holding his hand down the sidewalk, an incredibly public place—that in itself had to say something about something right? Shane was willing to be that open with this, despite it just being decided on that morning. 

In all honesty, Ryan doesn’t want the night to end yet. It’s a gross, sappy feeling, but he can’t help it, not when he’s been longing for something like this forever, knowing exactly who he wanted it from for months, and finally having it seems surreal. 

“Do you want to come up to mine?” Ryan asks, because if he doesn’t, he’ll regret it. Shane has the opportunity to back out, take it easy, but Ryan’s never really been a slow moving kind of guy.

Over the center console, he can feel Shane looking at him, and Ryan has the excuse of driving to get him out of looking back. 

Shane sets his hand on Ryan’s thigh, just above his knee. “Yeah.” 

-:-

The elevator comes down, the doors open, but Ryan’s lost in the feeling of Shane’s mouth on his neck that he doesn’t bother stopping what they’re doing to take it upstairs.

They’re alone in the hallway, and Shane’s pressed against him, one hand on Ryan’s hip to keep them close. Ryan’s heart beats hard in his chest, his arms looped around Shane’s shoulders. He runs his fingers through Shane’s hair.

Ryan’s got all kinds of feelings coursing through him, hot and heady, dizzying when Shane uses his teeth to nip at his skin. The coarse brush of Shane’s beard is new, a little electrifying when Ryan feels the scrape of it. Arousal drips through Ryan’s veins like honey, and Ryan can’t do anything but say Shane’s name, taste the shape of it on his tongue when he says it like _this._

“Hey,” Ryan says, bunching his hands in Shane’s shirt. “We should go up.”

“Yeah, we should,” Shane agrees, but he catches Ryan’s mouth in a kiss instead.

-:-

When they do get upstairs, Ryan gets Shane up against the door, thighs pressed between thighs. He lifts up to the balls of his feet, running his hands over Shane’s stomach. He groans when Shane presses his hips forward into Ryan’s.

“Inside, inside,” Ryan mutters against Shane’s throat.

“Alright, alright.”

But Shane doesn’t move, and Ryan reaches around and unlocks the front door. They go tumbling through, giggling. It’s gross and disgusting and Ryan loves it.

“Do we flip a coin for who takes the D?” Ryan says against Shane's mouth as they make out against the nearest wall, the front door still open. Ryan shifts his hips against Shane’s, and he keens, sending a thrill dancing down Ryan’s spine. 

“You’re incorrigible,” Shane mumbles into the kiss. 

“Well, truthfully, I thought maybe you might have a preference. But I really wanna fuck you if we’re ditching the coin. If you’re into that.” 

Shane looks down at Ryan. “Yeah?” 

Ryan nods. “Yeah.” Ryan runs his fingers through Shane’s hair, leans up to kiss him. 

When the door is closed and locked, Ryan leads Shane into his bedroom, switches the light on and closes the door. Ryan tugs Shane close by the hip and Shane meets him for a kiss, slow and hot, but each stroke of Shane’s tongue is like lightning in Ryan’s chest. 

Ryan bunches his hands in Shane’s button-up, pulling it from the waist band of Shane’s pants so he can set his hands against his skin, pulling him closer. Shane groans. 

They don’t break apart as they make their way to Ryan’s messy bed; Ryan pushes Shane down onto it, and Shane gives him a wry, lopsided smile. 

Ryan wants to make a joke. He wants to say something funny that’ll make Shane laugh. His mind draws a blank, and he’s left standing there at the edge of the bed, staring at Shane. 

“Second thoughts?” Shane lifts onto his elbows, looking at Ryan curiously. His hair is a mess from Ryan’s hands and Shane wears the flush on his cheeks like a sunburn. 

“No, no,” Ryan rushes to say, running his fingers through his own messy hair. “No second thoughts.” 

“It’s okay if you have second thoughts, Ry. Or third thoughts, or fourth thoughts,” Shane says simply. “We can always try again.” 

“It’s not that.” Ryan climbs onto Shane’s lap, leaning down to kiss him. “I promise that’s not what it is. I was just trying to think of a joke so I could make you laugh. It’s kind of stupid now that I said it out loud.” 

“Well,” Shane grins, “joke’s on you, because I don’t even think you’re funny.” 

“Unbelievable,” Ryan says in mock-disbelief. 

Shane brings him down, and there aren’t _any_ numbered thoughts, only the feeling of Shane’s body underneath his, how Shane sounds when Ryan touches him, how hot his flesh is under the palms of Ryan’s hands. It’s something he could get used to, mapping the lines of Shane’s body as they kiss, finding new ways to get Shane to make noise.

“Let’s get you out of these clothes, big guy.” Ryan sits back, slowly unbuttoning Shane’s button-up, pushing it over Shane’s shoulders and down his arms. Ryan marvels—with his hands, with his mouth when he pitches forwards to kiss over Shane’s skin, until he latches himself to Shane’s neck, licking at his pulse, Shane’s beard rough against his tongue. Shane moans, fingers threading through Ryan’s hair as Ryan lowers to sit on Shane’s lap, grinding his hips down. 

“Fuck, fuck,” Shane gasps, his hand slipping underneath the back of Ryan’s pants, grabbing at his ass to pull him closer.

Ryan pulls back to unbutton his own shirt and Shane falls back against the bed, gripping Ryan’s hips.

When Ryan throws his shirt to the ground, Shane runs his hands all over Ryan’s chest, his stomach. Ryan keeps up the rhythm with his hips, feeling the hard length of Shane’s cock underneath him. There’s heat all over Ryan’s skin, that good feeling of anticipation, sitting low and urgent in his belly. He’s straining against his jeans.

“You feel so good,” Ryan says, leaning down to crowd over Shane, pressing his hands against the mattress.

“Come on,” Shane says, patting Ryan’s hip. Ryan climbs off of him, standing between Shane’s knees as he pushes his jeans down his thighs, stepping out of them when they pool around his ankles.

He gets a hand around himself, tugging the length of his cock just once before reaching for the button of Shane’s pants. The look Shane gives him strikes Ryan hard, a jolt in his belly that makes Ryan’s dick twitch as he drags the pants down the expanse of Shane’s thighs along with his underwear.

“You could do serious damage with that,” Ryan jokes, to which Shane groans.

“Heard it all before,” Shane says, but he winks, reaching up to kiss Ryan again. When he pulls away, he situates himself among the pillows, his body long against Ryan’s striped sheets.

“Jesus Christ,” Ryan mutters. “You look incredible, right now.”

Shane’s eyes drift over Ryan’s body, appreciative, and he arches a brow. Ryan licks his lips, taking in a deep breath as he opens up the nightstand drawer, tearing a condom from the ribbon, and retrieving the bottle of lube.

There’s always a little bit of nervousness, a little bit of a performance when sleeping with someone for the first time. It’s comforting that Ryan doesn’t feel like he has to be anyone but himself here. 

With Shane laying back against his bedsheets, and Ryan lying on top of him, Shane’s thighs knock into Ryan’s hips as they kiss, every point of contact hotter than hell. Shane kisses feverishly, but carefully; slowly, but all encompassing, and it’s driving Ryan crazy, tasting the sweetness of strawberry ice cream still on Shane’s tongue. Ryan would have thought he would have kissed it away by now. 

Shane’s hands press on either side of Ryan’s spine, fingers gripping into Ryan’s flesh when Ryan shifts, rolling his hips down, feeling the slide of them together, messy and uncoordinated, sticky from how badly they want each other. 

“If we keep going like this, it’s going to be over way too soon,” Shane murmurs when he pulls away from their kiss, looking up at Ryan with starlit eyes. Ryan’s laugh is breathy against Shane’s cheek, and he doesn’t want to give up the hot press of Shane’s body, but he goes, drifting down Shane’s chest, dragging his lips along the jutting line of his collarbone, the sparse hair of his sternum. Ryan glances up to catch Shane’s eyes when he darts his tongue out over Shane’s hardened nipple, closing his mouth around it to suck. 

Shane inhales, sharp and quick, his fingers finding their way into Ryan’s hair. Ryan doesn’t stay for long though, pressing his mouth over and over and over again to Shane’s stomach, before he’s met with the crease of Shane’s hip, just about his thigh. Ryan busies his mouth there, for a long moment, where he uses his tongue and his teeth to leave a wine-stain mark behind. Shane moans when Ryan curls his fingers around his cock, too dry to do anything but tease. 

“Oh, God— _Ryan_ ,” Shane pants above him. When Ryan looks, his eyes are closed, and his face is all red, and Ryan really, really can’t wait to be inside of him. It’s going to have to wait, just a little while. 

On his knees in between Shane’s thighs, he sits on his heels and bends forward to take Shane into his mouth, a palm pressed against Shane’s hips to keep him still. Ryan’s far from sexually adventurous, but he’s had enough blowjobs to know what to do—he copies the things he likes, what he knows gets him off. With the head of Shane’s cock slipping past his lips, Shane is hot and heavy on his tongue, thick at the back of his throat. He tastes bitter and salty, and Ryan would have never guessed he’d like it so much, finds himself wanting to forget the lube and the condom and make Shane come like this, wet from Ryan’s mouth with Ryan’s hand stroking what he can’t fit, using his other hand to cradle his balls. 

“Jesus, _fuck_ ,” Shane breathes, arching his back, Ryan’s hand still pressed so firm against his belly to keep him down. “Oh, Ryan, you’re incredible.” 

The praise sends waves of delight rippling through his body. Ryan can’t help himself; his left hand has always been too uncoordinated to really use, but it does the job when he wraps his hand around himself and strokes, just enough to stave off the desperation climbing up his spine, settling clumsily on his shoulders. 

“ _Ryan,_ baby, you gotta—” 

Ryan pulls off of Shane, looking up at him in surprise, maybe some perverse satisfaction at Shane dropping pet names so early in the game. 

“Baby, huh?” Ryan asks, mouthing along the pale insides of Shane’s thighs. Shane’s laugh is breathless. 

“Hush, you.” 

Ryan bites at Shane’s skin just to hear him yelp. 

“Ow, you fucker.” 

“Haven’t fucked you yet,” Ryan murmurs, grinning against Shane’s flesh. “But I’m gonna.” 

“Better get on with it, then,” Shane advises, drawing up his knees. Shane cards his fingers through Ryan’s hair, pushing away the locks from his eyebrows. It’s a tender moment; Ryan feels too much—desire, adoration, content—but all he does is reach over Shane’s thigh for the lube. 

He unclicks the cap with his thumb, wetting his fingers, rubbing them together so it isn’t cold when he touches Shane. Shane makes a soft noise when he sinks his middle finger in, like all the breath has left him. Ryan watches Shane with careful eyes, the way his blush deepens along the apples of his cheeks, how gorgeous he is when he bites down on his lip, looking at Ryan with an arresting gaze. 

“Jesus,” Ryan huffs. “I can’t get over how hot you are like this.” 

Shane grins and closes his eyes as Ryan works his finger in as deep as he can go. Shane groans, and Ryan can’t help but touch himself again; the anticipation is agonizing. 

When Ryan slips in a second finger, Shane moans, a sharp noise that bounces off the walls. Shane’s fingers grip the bedsheets and he’s so tight around Ryan’s fingers. 

“Relax, you gotta relax, babe,” Ryan coaxes gently. Shane blinks his eyes open, lips curving into a crooked smile. 

“Babe, huh?” 

“You started it,” Ryan accuses. Shane doesn’t say anything, if only because he grunts instead. Ryan twists his fingers, curling them, stretching Shane open; Shane’s hips shift, like he’s trying to fuck himself on Ryan’s hand. 

“God, I just—” Shane’s eyes shut tight and his face screws up, and Ryan wants to keep him there, with the desperate sound of Ryan’s name dripping from his mouth, as Ryan finds exactly what he’s looking for. “ _Fuck, fuck—_ oh my—” 

Three fingers in and Shane’s barely coherent, leaking all over his belly, cock twitching whenever Ryan fucks in just right.

“Yeah?” Ryan wonders, taking in the sight of Shane, flushed, the pink of his blush creeping down his neck and dripping over his shoulders, his chest.

“ _Yes_ ,” Shane huffs. He grapples against Ryan’s shoulders, tugging at his arms with a strong hold that doesn’t _suggest_. “Please, Ryan, _Christ_.”

“Okay, okay,” Ryan concedes, sliding his fingers out and wiping them on the sheets. He settles between Shane’s legs, pitching forward to kiss him, messy, uncoordinated, but good, _God_ , so good, with the slick slide of Shane’s tongue, heavy breaths and hands _everywhere._ Eventually, Ryan gets the condom on, feeling the heavy weight of Shane’s eyes on him. He looks up and finds Shane smiling softly. His heart does a complicated, twisting flip in his chest. He’s in love, fuck, so much love.

At the last moment, Ryan reaches past Shane and grabs a pillow. 

“Up,” Ryan says, and Shane laughs, but he lifts his hips so Ryan can stuff the pillow underneath him. “Good?” 

“Yeah,” he says, curling his hand around the back of Ryan’s arm as Ryan hovers over him. “Slowly, alright?” 

Ryan nods. He pushes back Shane's leg—no time to admire Shane's apparent flexibility—and Shane runs his hand through Ryan’s hair, delicate fingers dragging over the line of Ryan's jaw. They’re so open here; Ryan isn’t guessing what Shane is feeling. He doesn’t have to. 

One day, it won't feel so heavy. Or maybe, it’ll always feel like this. 

For just a second, Ryan closes his eyes.

“Hey, Ryan, you good?” Shane wonders, touching his fingers to Ryan’s chest. “We can still—“ 

Ryan opens his eyes and looks down at Shane, focusing his eyes so Shane’s clear. He glows with the golden light of his bedroom lamp, amber eyes sparkling like wildfire. Ryan quirks a crooked smile. “No, no, I’m—just got a little lost thinking,” he promises. “I’m gonna—do the sex thing, now.” 

“I’d like that, yeah.” Shane chuckles, squeezing his fingers around the back of Ryan’s arm. The gesture quells whatever anxiety threatens to bubble up and burst, and the world seems to right itself. 

Slowly, Ryan sinks inside of Shane, until his hips are flush against Shane’s. Each breath aches in his lungs, and Ryan hovers over him, trying to keep as still as he can, but it’s difficult when Shane feels this good; he isn’t prepared for Shane arching his back underneath him, the way he pants, and says Ryan’s name in a way he’s _never_ heard before. 

Shane’s hand is tight around Ryan’s arm, his other against the back of Ryan’s neck and for a moment, they lay there and stare at each other. Ryan’s entire body is awash with voracious heat, and there’s that sticky feeling in his chest when Shane blinks up at him, biting down on his lip. 

“Dude, I’m—” 

“I know, I know,” Shane murmurs. “Come here.” 

Ryan lowers himself onto his forearms, fitting his mouth to Shane’s, but it’s just a still moment, where they’re pressed together. Shane breathes like he’s been running, and maybe it’s a little bit like he has been, like he’s only, just now, gotten a break.

“Okay?” Ryan asks. 

Shane nods. “It’s a lot, Ry,” he admits, threading his fingers through the hair at the back of Ryan’s head. Ryan ducks down, presses his mouth against Shane’s cheek, his jaw, his chin, listening to Shane’s harsh, ragged breathing. Ryan’s heart is beating so hard it’s a miracle he can hear Shane’s breathing at all. 

Shane reaches up to catch Ryan’s mouth in a kiss, shifting underneath him, and Ryan rocks his hips to meet him. Shane grunts, curling his hand tighter around Ryan’s arm, his other hand pressed against the back of Ryan’s neck. 

“Oh, fuck,” Shane hisses. 

“Sorry, sorry, I just—“ 

“It’s okay,” Shane huffs, “ _please_.” 

Carefully, Ryan draws back his hips and presses in, slowly, trying to maintain every bit of restraint not to just fuck Shane stupid. It really is a lot, how badly he wants to cave into that reckless desire to just _go_. Shane’s hands trip over Ryan’s sweaty skin, over Ryan’s shoulder and down his stomach, gripping his waist, and bringing him out of his thoughts. 

“ _Ryan_ ,” Shane breathes, throwing his head back, and closing his eyes. “Oh, my god.” His skin is pink, splotchy on his shoulders. He can hear himself; he’s always been noisy, but to hear Shane’s own moaning, his sighing, the way he pleads is an entirely different level. 

“Yeah?” Ryan looks down at Shane’s face, watching him lose it each time Ryan cants his hips forward. It’s beautiful, in a way that sex usually isn’t, because sex is messy and gross, and everything is wet, but he’d live in the cradle of Shane’s thighs if he could, pressed in deep, so Shane says his name like that over and over again. 

It feels good, all kinds of right, planets aligning, ‘when you find the one, you’ll know’ kind of shit. Feels a little bit like they were supposed to take too long to get here. 

Ryan drives his hips against Shane’s, deliberate, wanting so badly to watch Shane fall apart underneath him. Shane’s thighs press into his hips, knees knocking against Ryan's ribs. Shane makes soft breathy moans that kindle the heat in Ryan’s belly. 

“You feel so good,” Ryan whispers, kissing at the corner of Shane's jaw, kissing lower until he latches on and sucks at Shane's pulse. Shane makes a strangled noise, reaching the hand that isn’t clutching Ryan’s arm around to slip down his back, press against the swell of his ass to bring him in closer. 

The bed creaks from their weight rocking against the mattress; the bed frame knocks quietly against the wall, Ryan’s hips smack against Shane’s, and Shane isn’t loud, not at all, but he chants Ryan’s name. Ryan can barely hear it all over the sound of his heartbeat rushing through his ears. 

“Come on, Shane, let me hear you,” Ryan pleads. “I wanna hear you.” 

“Harder—harder, please, let me feel it,” Shane gasps. Something in Ryan breaks, his resolve maybe, but he gives in. He keeps himself braced on one forearm, drags his other hand down the hot, sweaty expanse of Shane’s flesh to widen the stance of Shane’s thighs, gripping tight as he fucks in hard, deep, knees raw against his bedsheets. The sound of Shane’s voice changes, loud and unabashed as he closes his eyes, almost unbearably tight around Ryan. 

“Yes, _yes_ , just like that, Ry.” Shane brings him in, close, but their mouths don’t touch, instead, Shane watches him, eyes bright but heavy-lidded, rudely attractive. 

“Dude, I will come so fast if you don’t stop looking at me like that,” Ryan rasps, shoving his face into Shane's shoulder. 

“That’s kind of the point,” Shane says, wiggling his arm between their bodies, wrapping his fingers around his cock, stroking with intent. His knuckles bump against Ryan’s stomach and his muscles tense, clenched tight. “Make me come,” he whispers, hot in Ryan’s ear.

“God, Shane—” Ryan quickens his pace, taking his hand away from Shane’s thigh to touch one hand to Shane’s cheek when he leans back to look down. Ryan barely has time to watch the way Shane trembles underneath him, to watch Shane's eyes blink open, looking Ryan right in the eyes as his hips grind against Ryan’s, both legs locked tight around Ryan's waist as he spills hot between them.

“Ryan, Ryan, _Ryan_ ,” Shane moans, and all of that, all of it strikes Ryan hard, right in the chest, and Ryan crowds over Shane, attempting to hide in Shane’s throat, but Shane keeps a hand hot on Ryan’s chest. “No, let me see you.” 

And so, Ryan lets himself be seen. 

He curves his hand over the side of Shane's neck, and his mouth drops open after he gasps out Shane’s name when he comes. Every part of him seems to go off, like the rush of his climax frays each and every one of his nerves. Shane gentles him, his hands soft over Ryan’s face, his shoulders, laying flushed and pretty with come splattered on his belly, on his chest, like speckled paint. Ryan presses in deep and stays, his body shaking. 

Heedless of the mess, Ryan wilts forward, lying on Shane, and Shane wraps his arms around him, keeping him close. Ryan pants against Shane’s throat and keeps his eyes closed. 

They lay there in the quiet, sweaty, blanketed by muggy air. Ryan feels like if he moves, even the tiniest bit, the contents of his heart might spill out everywhere. 

So, he does, leaning up on his elbow so he can look down at Shane, take in the blush of his cheeks and the dopey smile he wears. 

“I didn’t expect it to be like that,” Ryan confesses. 

“Like what?” Shane asks. 

“I don’t know. Didn’t you feel it?” Ryan frowns. 

Shane draws gentle fingers through the sweaty mess of Ryan's hair. “I think you made me feel _something_.” 

Ryan wheezes, catching Shane’s mouth for a kiss; it’s just the sweet press and pull of their lips. There’s the memory of rain, of a plea, and Ryan feels a lot like he’s been applicably ruined.

Ryan pulls out and flops onto the mattress beside Shane, and interestingly, Shane falls into him, resting his head on Ryan's shoulder. 

“Didn’t take you for a cuddler,” Ryan jokes. 

Shane hums. “I’m not. Not usually.” Shane shrugs, swinging an arm around Ryan’s waist. 

There’s something telling in that, but rather than give Shane a reason to pull away, Ryan just kisses the top of Shane's hair. 

“There's no point in showering if we’re going to do this again,” Ryan says, matter of fact.

“Oh, we’re doing this again, huh?” Shane climbs onto Ryan, between his thighs and Ryan grins up at him, looping his arms around Shane's neck. 

“Yep,” Ryan says with a loud pop on the P. “Again, and again, and again, and—“ 

Shane effectively cuts him off with a kiss. 

-:-

They make out for a while, grab a couple beers, and then it’s back to bed. 

This time, Ryan gets Shane on his knees, drawing Shane up so he’s pressed all along the front of Ryan’s body. Shane comes all over the bedsheets and Ryan's hand, just after Ryan comes inside him again. 

Afterwards, they spend time talking and being close, until Shane drags Ryan into the shower. 

They make the bed, joking around and kissing in between pulling sheets over bed corners because they can’t keep their hands off of each other. 

Since they aren’t ready to call it a night yet, sated but too keyed up to sleep, they don’t. 

It’s somewhere around one in the morning, and they leave Ryan’s apartment to find street tacos at an open taco truck downtown. Ryan parks his car in the empty lot and they place their orders.

When they finish eating, they sit on the hood of Ryan’s car and lean back, pretending like they can see the stars. Los Angeles makes it difficult—nothing like Chicago, Ryan realizes.

“Do you think the sex was good because we know each other?” Ryan brings their tangled hands up to kiss Shane’s knuckles.

“What?” Shane wheezes, looking over at Ryan.

“You know?” he says laughing. 

“You're ridiculous.” He puts a hand behind his head, turning his attention back up to the sky.

“You say that, but I think you agree with me.” Ryan tugs on their hands.

“Sex is sex. Emotions can be removed,” Shane says lightly. 

“Way to make a guy feel warm and fuzzy, Jesus.” 

“ _Ryan_ —” Shane elbows him. “That’s not what I meant.”

Ryan leans over Shane, looking down at him. “You did say I made you feel something.”

“An _orgasm_. Two of them, even. Look at you.” Shane waggles his eyebrows. Ryan gives in and smiles, but it fades much too quickly. Shane looks at him curiously, eyes darting around like he’s searching.

“You know, I love you,” Ryan murmurs. “And I really, honestly mean that.” 

“I know you do.” 

“Do you love me?” 

Shane sighs, and looks away.

“It's okay if you say no.” 

“I care about you a lot, Ry,” Shane says carefully.

“That's okay, too.” Ryan untangles their fingers and touches Shane's face with his hand. Shane closes his eyes. “Does this freak you out? Us?” 

Shane shakes his head. “It makes sense.” 

“You don’t regret it, do you?”

Shane opens his eyes. “Of course, I don’t.” 

“You’re just...being confusing.” 

“If I didn’t want to be here with you, I wouldn’t be. If I didn’t want to take you out, and take you home, I wouldn’t have. If I didn’t want to—to see where this could potentially go, I wouldn’t have said anything, Ryan. I know you want me to say—you want me to tell you I feel the same way about you, but I can’t just—I want to see what happens. I want to know that this isn’t going to—” 

“You’re scared.” 

“Of course, I’m scared!” Shane lifts himself up, pushing Ryan away. Ryan watches as Shane slides off the hood of the car. “Of course, I’m—we can joke all we want to about buying houses and _dating_ and—whatever else. We can make it funny. But we have the potential to blow it up in one wrong move. We’re standing on landmines and—” Shane shakes his head. 

Ryan tangles his fingers together, setting them in his lap. He watches Shane’s long strides as he paces in front of his car.

“Ryan—you’ve been my best friend for so long it’s like I’ve known you my whole life. Do you really think I want to ruin that just because I like sleeping with you? Or touching you?” Shane stops moving, standing straight, with his head tipped back.

“You think _I_ want to?” Ryan climbs off the hood of his car and stands squarely in front of Shane. “Hey, look at me.”

Shane levels him with a look, like he’s being forced to.

“You said you’ve been wondering for years.” Ryan takes Shane’s hand and Shane fits their fingers together. “You don’t have to anymore. If it blows up, then it blows up. But God, Shane. What if it doesn’t? What if we’re so good together?” 

Shane sighs. 

“You _know_ me. You have to know I thought about that. About it not working out. About it being the worst thing we could do. You have to know I prepared for the worst case scenario. And even then, I had to tell you. Because I couldn’t live with allowing you to be a ‘what if’.” 

“ _Ryan_ ,” he says, exasperated, but he pulls Ryan in by the hip and kisses him hard, fully, with all the consequences laid out at their feet. Sure, they’re standing on landmines, but it seems, finally, that Shane doesn’t give a shit anymore.

It isn’t until Shane’s got Ryan nearly pinned to the hood of his car that Ryan pulls back.

“I should take you home,” Ryan murmurs. 

“Stay with me, though,” Shane says against his mouth. “Stay the night. Stay all the nights.” 

“Bold of you to assume I wasn’t going to.”

Shane laughs. “Of course, how could I have thought otherwise?” 

“Dunno, you big dummy.”

“So, uh.” Shane clears his throat. “This California dew is just a little heavier than usual tonight.”

The thing is, it isn’t raining. It’s dry as fuck, not a cloud above, the night sky a deeply saturated black. Shane keeps his hold on Ryan, arms wound tight around his waist. Ryan curls his arms around Shane’s neck, keeping himself high up on the tips of his toes.

“From where I stand,” Ryan says softly, trying to contain the elation bubbling and bursting in his chest. “The sun is shining all over the place.”

Shane laughs. He laughs and it’s loud and annoying and Ryan’s heart feels too big for his body. Shane laughs and Ryan laughs, too.

They untangle from each other, and when they’re in the car, music plays gently, and Shane keeps his hand on Ryan’s thigh.

-:-

-:-

-:-

Despite Ryan’s griping about Shane’s apartment heating, he spends more nights at Shane’s than his own.

They’re running just a little bit late; Shane had decided to get a little frisky in the shower, so they get stuck on I-5, in the worst stop and go traffic Ryan’s dealt with in a while. Shane’s happy-go-lucky in the passenger seat, drumming his fingers against his thighs.

“You know what?” Shane asks.

“What?” 

“I remember when I met you. I couldn’t decide if I liked you or not.” 

“This car ride is going to be really awkward if you’ve suddenly come to a decision that you don’t.” 

Shane laughs and Ryan gets that fuzzy feeling, warmth sloshing through him. He can’t imagine a time where he won’t feel like this, where _Shane_ won’t make him feel like this.

“Remember when we were in Texas?” Shane asks. “Got a neat little bridge outta that.” 

Ryan doesn’t answer. He checks his mirrors and heaves a sigh. 

“It’s funny, because you made that joke,” Shane continues. 

“What joke? Why are we even talking about this?” 

“I just remembered it. You’re souring my memory, hush.” 

Ryan grins, looking over at Shane, whose attention is set somewhere through the passenger side window. 

“Sorry, sorry,” Ryan says. “What joke did I make, babe?” 

“You said you’d jump into the water.” 

“Probably to get away from a demon. Not that it matters, the bridge isn’t haunted.” 

“I said I wouldn’t go after you.” 

“I remember.” Ryan looks over at Shane again, and this time, Shane’s looking at him, but his features are vague, expressionless. Ryan looks back through the windshield. “I think it was funnier when I said it then,” he laments. 

Shane hums. “It’s just that in a hypothetical situation, if you’d have jumped into the water, chances are, you’d have been fine. Theoretically, you would have been able to swim to shore. I mean, you know how to swim, so, realistically, I wouldn’t need to go in after you.” 

“No, probably not,” Ryan reasons, squinting his eyes. Shane isn’t making any sense, and he doesn’t want to jump through his hypochondria and fret; he doesn’t quite allow his anxiety to let him think something’s wrong with Shane yet. 

“But,” Shane starts, pausing quiet. “But I would have. Without a second thought, I think. For the equipment or anyone else, or myself. I would have gone in after you.” 

Ryan smiles. “That’s sweet, big guy.” 

“It’s not even—I just—hmm. It just made me think that, if you go somewhere, I’d like to go, too.” 

Something about the sentiment makes Ryan’s heart take off like a bullet. It’s inconvenient for them to be stuck in traffic, when all he wants to do is look at the code of Shane’s face and crack it to find out what exactly Shane is thinking. 

“Like, who else am I supposed to be with, if not you?” 

Ryan gasps, tightening his fingers around the steering wheel. Traffic slows, so Ryan presses the brake pedal, and glances at Shane. “Um—” 

Shane says, “I love you.” 

“Shane!” Ryan slams on the brakes and the car behind him honks. “I can’t decide if I should pull over to kiss you or punch you.” He glares at Shane, but it doesn’t matter because Shane is laughing, and Ryan laughs as well, feeling a little bit delirious from it. 

“ _I love you, too, Shane_ ,” he says in a mocking voice, high pitched and stupid, like he always sounds when he imitates Ryan. As badly as Ryan wants to climb over the center console and kiss Shane for all he’s worth, traffic moves, and doesn’t stop again. 

“Shane, goddamn it, I’m driving.” 

“Think about it this way. You’ll be sentimental about your car because I told you I loved you in it. Kind of romantic if you think about it.” 

The thing is, Ryan can’t argue. Shane’s reasoning is immaculate. Every time he gets stuck in traffic from now on is going to cut to this memory of Shane and himself, driving on Interstate Five, late as fuck to work. 

“Oh my—was that what—you were all in your feelings this morning, and that’s why you wanted to blow me in the shower,” Ryan says, grinning wildly. 

“Well.” Shane scoffs. “Sometimes I want to blow you for the heck of it.” 

“Not _this_ morning, though. Aww, you gave me a love...job.” 

“Stop talking.” 

“Okay.” But Ryan can’t get rid of his grin, and it seems, when Ryan looks over, neither can Shane. 

Over the center console, Ryan holds out his hand. 

To which, of course, Shane gives it a smack, like Ryan’s going to high fuckin’ five an ‘I love you’. 

“ _Shane_ ,” Ryan mutters. 

“Alright, alright,” Shane huffs, but he presses his palm against Ryan’s and their fingers clasp, and they hold hands the rest of the way to the office. 

When Ryan finally pulls into his parking spot at the office, Shane immediately gets out, and Ryan shakes his head, sighing. “Unbelievable. This _guy._ ” 

Ryan gets out of the car, and catches up to Shane, grabbing his arm. “Get back here, you dick.” 

Shane laughs, and it’s the best sound Ryan’s ever heard in his entire life. Twenty-nine years old and Shane’s loud, stupid, near-cackle makes his stomach flutter. He loves it. Loves him. 

It’s California, the sun is out, and they’re in love, so Shane presses his hand low against Ryan’s back, pulling him in. Ryan pushes up onto the tips of his toes and curls an arm around Shane’s neck. 

They’re already late, who gives a shit if they waste more time kissing in the parking lot. 

“Tell me again.” 

“Tell you what?” 

“You know what,” Ryan whines. “Don’t be mean.” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Shane says, but he’s grinning, leaning forward. “I love you.” 

There’s fireworks, and balloons, and a whole goddamn parade in Ryan’s chest. It’s big and blooming and it makes him feel too big for his body, too much to handle on a regular ol’ Tuesday morning. 

All Ryan can really do about it, is say, “I love you, too.” 

**Author's Note:**

> wow, what a ride. thanks for reading! i'm [here!](https://uneventfulhouses.tumblr.com)


End file.
